In 2023 the U.S. Surgeon General declared that America suffered from a “loneliness epidemic,” caused by shrinking participation in such communal outlets as Kiwanis Clubs and bowling leagues. Replacement activities – pickleball, mah jong, puppy yoga, Potrero Boosters meetings – apparently haven’t yet been embraced by those more comfortable sitting on the sofa, alone, watching The Last of Us or Andor.
One low-lift remedy to lonesomeness, which has the benefit of contributing to a better world, is positive casual social interactions. According to science, or what’s left of it, even brief interactions – small talk with a Farley’s barista; a quick conversation with a neighbor – can reduce feelings of isolation and create a sense of well-being.
Compared to my wife, Debbie, and in-laws – who frequently engage in full-blown life story swaps with parking attendants and passersby – I’m not much of a casual talker. But recently I’ve had a string of interactions that sparked good vibes between me and my minute-friend, which, I choose to believe, echoed like whale songs throughout the world.
I was checking out at Total Wine and More on Harrison Street. After calculating my purchases, the 20-something cashier told me I had a $5 credit; would I like to use it now or later?
“I’ll gladly take the credit today,” I said, in an animated voice.
“OMG, Wimpy! I love Wimpy!” she exclaimed.
“Who doesn’t,” I smiled, though I was surprised she was familiar with a character from Popeye the Sailor, a television show that stopped production when I was a toddler.
“What was his tagline? I used it with my mom the other day when I had to borrow money from her,” wondered the cashier, who shifted her voice to sound like Wimpy. “I’ll gladly pay you when I get my paycheck if you give me money today.”
“‘I’d gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today,” I warbled back. “Did Wimpy ever actually get the hamburger?”
“I think he did!”
We smiled at one another, and I went on my way.
New Orleans might be the center of casual conversations. Everyone seems ready with a quick quip, comforting words, or advice about the best place to get jambalaya. At Jazzfest this year Debbie and I ducked into a hospitality tent for refreshments and relief. Exiting the lux porta potty, I searched for my wife, who was standing outside the entrance, chatting with one of the door keepers, a Black woman about our age.
“I was looking for you,” said Debbie.
“I told her, if she can’t find you, she could take her pick!” cackled the woman. “Lots of attractive men in here!”
“Don’t be saying that,” I retorted, grinning. “I don’t need that kind of trouble.”
We laughed, and parted with waves, tiny bubbles of joy floating above us.
Driving back from a meeting in Atwater, dressed like Jim from The Office – blue button-down shirt; khakis – I stopped at an Arby’s for a late lunch. As I got out of my car, I recalled the Arby’s jokes made by The Daily Show’s Jon Stewart, most of them scatological. “Arby’s! Isn’t there anywhere else we can eat..?” was the cleanest. “What’d he have against Arby’s, anyways,” I wondered.
I stepped up to the self-service computer screen to order and was immediately befuddled by the possible combinations. I just wanted a simple roast beef sandwich, maybe some fries. Was that the “Classic Roast Beef Meal?” Or maybe the “Double the Meats Meal?”
“I can help you at the counter if you prefer,” said the middle-aged casher. “What would you like?”
“Thank you,” I said. “That’s very kind. I’m looking for the basics: roast beef and fries.”
“No worries,” she said. “Curly fries okay?”
“That’d be fabulous,” I replied. “I appreciate the help.”
“Such a respectful gentleman,” she smiled. “It’ll be right up.”
I wondered whether her pleasant response was because of abuse or curt interactions she received from other customers. Or maybe she liked my “office attire.” Either way, it didn’t matter.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I smiled as I picked up my order. “Have a fine day.”
“You as well, sir,” she smiled back.
I’m confident that both of our days were indeed a bit finer.