Glorious spring: birds chirping, flowers blooming, but many consider May the cruelest month of the year. No longer camouflaged by a ski mask and snowsuit, the Northwestern community is exposed and vulnerable on Sheridan Road.
An acquaintance barrels toward you and, in a nanosecond, you must select an appropriate greeting: (a) the double chin recoil, (b) the verbal hello and/or perfunctory “what’s up” or (c) the stop-and-chat (in extreme circumstances paired with bodily contact).
Your above answer is contingent on the quality of your relationship with said person. Do you know his middle name? Do you know his first name? Do you know his gerbil’s middle name? (If you answered the last in the affirmative, see future column on creepy pet owners. Don’t dress your labradoodle in a Halloween costume).
Some opt for (d) none of the above. Robert Frost was not the only one who took the road less traveled. Antisocial people thrive on the west side of Sheridan Road, and for them, it makes all the difference. They cut across the Foster-Walker Complex parking lot and arm themselves with antisocial weapons such as the iPod. These westsiders rely on iVoidance, feigning preoccupation with a groovy Zeppelin guitar solo as a means to avoid (a), (b) and (c). Also in the anti-social arsenal: sunglasses. With this eyewear, antisocial people avoid eye contact altogether.
On the east side of Sheridan Road, the mayors of Evanston reign supreme. You know the type: they walk around with a beauty queen wave and an ear-to-ear grin. They give the stop-and-chat to everyone – but never know when to stop. Cool your jets, you’re not up for reelection!
The only thing worse than an encounter with these social butterflies is being their wingman. You look like a Debbie Downer, the awkward third party who adds nothing to the conversation but a mopey frown.
It would be great if wannabe politicians came with a warning label. To this end, I suggest discussing your social goals with a would-be walking partner prior to that trek down Sheridan.
There’s no crying in stopping and chatting, or is there? Perhaps the antisocials are the way they are for a reason. They’ve been burned before and fear rejection.
You belt out: “Hi Benji!” But, curses, it’s not Benji! You turn to the person next to you: “I thought that was Benji.” They shoot you a look: “We are not on a stop-and-chat basis.” You retreat to the Plex parking lot and crawl into the fetal position.
If you are a bad dancer, you are advised to follow the lead of your partner. Likewise, should you follow the lead of your aquaintence in a possible stop-and-chat situation? In a word, no. Picture a person coming toward you, arms outstretched, invading your personal space. Locked in a full-body Indian Rugburn, you protest, “We only took a freshman seminar together!” Maybe in the face of May’s cruelty, the best defense is an offense.
Amanda FitzSimons is a Weinberg junior. She can be reached at [email protected].
