All my posts: https://learn1.open.ac.uk/mod/oublog/view.php?u=zw219551
or search for 'martin cadwell -caldwell' Take note of the position of the minus sign to eliminate caldwell returns or search for 'martin cadwell blog' in your browser.
I am not on YouTube or social media
Cadwell NOT Caldwell
Get out of jail, free
[ 5 minute read ]
Talk to me
I needed to collect a prescription from the dispensing doctor's surgery in my village, yesterday. There was a woman, perhaps in her fifties or sixties, standing at the pharmacy counter; the customer or patient's side. No-one was on the pharmacists side.
'Are you waiting to be seen?' I asked. Her body was shielding the bell that alerted the pharmacy staff that someone was waiting and I wanted to press it if she had not. Deciding whether I should need to explain to her that the bell was there, and it should be pressed, or asking her to move so I could press it, suddenly became important to me.
Haughtily she replied, 'Yes, I am being seen, thank you!' I was only asking. Her voice seemed disdainful. I felt she had looked me up and down without even moving her eyes or head. I am tempted to consider that she saw a man and that was enough for her to make a decision as to my internal make-up. It happens; a lot.
Of course, I have to recognise that I might have had a smell about me or my clothes were old or torn or something; but I was wearing expensive trousers and shirt, and I had bathed only an hour before. I admit my boots were a bit muddy, because I had cycled to the surgery, and the roads are a bit grubby sometimes; you know, spray from the front wheel in the rain.
She rather reminded me of the 'witch-nurse' who pretended to attend to the drunk man who had fallen over on the dual carriageway in my local city. She just hated me from the get-go. But, then I was the only male available in that scenario. In the surgery, a man was seated; invariably waiting for his prescription to be prepared. He was quite inconspicuous in his silence and lack of movement.
Someone appeared on the pharmacy side of the counter and asked if I wanted something. 'Are you waiting to be seen?'
'Yes, please', I replied. I gave my name and she went away to search.
Once again, we three were left alone. Alone that is if I ignore the reception staff and the doctor's patients on the other side of the room. People came and left through the doors behind us, mostly elderly folk with umbrellas and accoutrement. I felt compelled to speak. I just do; it is a thing I have never been able to shake since I was hitch-hiking throughout Europe when I was in my twenties. I am, I suppose, naturally friendly. If I compare myself to many people in England I might consider myself open, confident and interesting. It is just cracking the shell of the nut that is someone else's reticence to engage with others that makes me appear to be desperate to interact.
I am not desperate. I am merely giving my attention to other people. We might say, if we don't like someone, 'I wouldn't give them the time of day!' I do 'give people the time of day'; my cheap time. I would like to say that I am always mindful that many people don't get to have a conversation for days; they sit at home watching day-time television, and no-one calls them on the phone or visits. I never think that. I just talk to strangers, willy-nilly.
I turned to the waiting woman who was staring at my boots, 'I would happily grant foreigners...' She didn't look up at me. '...that England does have strange weather....' She looked at my face, realising that I was talking to her, to her for goodness sake! '.. It is too hot and then too much rain.' She coldly stared at me. She didn't say anything, just stared. The pharmacy person returned with my prescription.
'What is the first line of your address?' I told her and ticked the boxes for a repeat prescription. I thanked her, 'Thank you ma'am'. She was quite young though but she didn't seem to react to being addressed as a madam. When I turned to leave, I turned away from the frosty woman and noticed the seated man cleaning his glasses. I wear glasses, even though I don't need them to see perfectly, outside. On this occasion, I was still wearing the very weak reading glasses I use for computer work. They don't really affect my long distance vision because there are other things at play with my sight, like astigmatism.
'I find that I have to wear reading glasses to see whether the glasses I am cleaning are actually clean.' I offered. He smiled and said, 'It's the rain spots.' I smiled, nodded and left. He had noted what I had said to the waiting woman and responded on the same subject.
Why did the man freely talk and the woman not? I might offer that I am of no use to the woman, whereas the man has never bothered to consider if any man is useful or not. Harshly, and almost certainly blindly, I might think that being a man, all men before me have marked my card when it comes to the expectations a woman may have of me. That is, many men have made mistakes and have otherwise been cruel, and I fit the mould. Treading on and trampling on someone's emotions is something that any one of us can do, and hope can die an agonising death if we are hurt too often. The thing is, it wasn't me that did it to all women; and it wasn't him who did it, or him, or him. I think I am highlighting the reciprocal of misogyny; I am talking 'misterogyny'. Just saying! (Like saying, 'just saying' absolves anyone of guilt!).
Here is a joke that might be funny: What do you call a female moth? A myth. In the recent context I have written in, it suddenly isn't. Females do exist. Sad isn't it, that the joke is now corrupted?
Anyway, there might be something else that I need to consider. Did the woman think I was trying to engage her in conversation simply because she is a woman? Was she tired of men doing this. I can't help but think if I was a woman she might have been more open to fleeting chat. After all, talking about the weather is still a British thing, right?
Many people might think, 'Just leave people alone, why don't you?' Perhaps the woman is just miserable and she was waiting for medication to cheer her up. At our dispensing surgery we get text messages to tell us that our prescription is ready for collection. That means that we are not all waiting for them to be assembled out the back. Both the frigid woman and the quiet man were waiting longer than I had to. Inductive reasoning would tell me that they had not received a text (which happens) and they were expecting a re-issue of their on-going prescription. In those circumstances they might be feeling a little miffed, that could easily swell to irked, if they are spoken to. Sometimes, I just don't think in time.
I have a stock of medication that acts as a buffer. If these two people have the same experience as I, they would build up one too. Our dispensing surgery is known for its general incompetence. That is not to say the staff lack competence; it is more a general thing because there is a seriously high staff turnover there. Methinks, there is another issue at hand; a managerial problem? I have a strong idea on that.
Or, maybe the locals are just plain mean to everyone, including the pharmacy staff.
In the game 'Monopoly', players can randomly get a 'Get out of Jail Free' card. Would it be terribly weird if I handed them out to people to let them know that I know they are at fault, but I forgive them? I would, of course, give myself one, a golden one.