Picture a Starbucks patio and three people enjoying drinks, contraband donuts and each other’s company. It’s my daughter’s birthday. Enter a woman with two large dogs on leashes. Picture me ignoring her and the two dog snouts that are hovering an inch from my knee. She sits at a table next to us and tugs on the dogs’ leashes—stop bothering them, she tells them. She comments on our donuts and proposes a different bakery. Have you ever tried the Donut Shop? They’re her favorite. We politely shake our heads and smile. She apologizes for the dogs. They’re anxious and excited for a Puppaccino, which she describes. More polite smiling. My back is largely to the woman. I’m paying attention to my daughter, admiring her nails. She’s artistic, and the design on one nail is impressive, so I compliment her. The woman with the dogs overhears. She says she’s allergic to acrylic. She breaks out in a rash. Fake eyelashes work better for her. With the fake eyelashes, she’s put together for the day right out of bed. We smile and nod politely. Then we leave.
Now we’re in the car. I say, I have an observation or two . . .. My daughter groans. Please, it’s my birthday, she says. To her, observation is code for criticism. Right away I know my daughter is going to defend the woman with the dogs. But I persist. I point out that what seemed like friendly behavior was anything but friendly. This woman dismissed our donuts, implying that they were inferior. She brought two large dogs to a coffee shop and made sure they wandered into our personal space. She denounced acrylic nails (never mind that my daughter’s nails are real).
Is that any way to be friendly? I say.
Or maybe she’s lonely, my daughter says. Defending her, as I predicted.
Was loneliness on full display in that Starbucks patio? I don’t see how—she brought two giant dogs with her for companionship . . . or protection. Either way, they created a bit of a barrier. Did she long for the sound of other human voices? Hard to know. She did all the talking. Perhaps one-sided conversations suit her, when you consider she has two large dogs.
But for argument’s sake, let’s say my daughter is right—the woman wants friends. In that case, her attempts to connect with us failed miserably. We didn’t exchange numbers or even names, for that matter. If that was her attempt at making friends, I give her points for effort. She seemed to give it her all. The problem is, she’s honing a skill that doesn’t work. She’s getting better and better at not connecting. And likely getting better and better at being lonely. So, what’s the fix?
Rather than talk about her favorite donuts or her rashes, maybe she should come clean about her loneliness. Tell us how hard she works to connect with people but it goes nowhere. Tell us how friendly she is and still people give her the cold shoulder. That’s where I would start, if I were her. Then I’d tell her to sit back and enjoy the tsunami of advice. She’ll get attention, all right. Because people love nothing more than taking a shot at fixing someone, even a stranger. As these please-fix-me sessions become more frequent and deepen, she’ll get to hear about their favorite donuts and their rashes. Like magic, a friendship or two will blossom. And she’ll have the strongest desire to adopt another dog.
Into the Comfort Zone 