Personal and Private

I'm becoming, or recognizing that I've already been for some time, one of "those" people. You probably know a few. Those annoying people who nitpick and whine about others who also nitpick and whine. I try to comfort myself through this painful awareness by hoping it's just a stage I'm passing through on the way to being liberated from neuroses. I imagine, hopefully, that the day will come when I will no longer reflexively cringe at such common things as faulty grammar; people who talk too loudly in any setting; mothers who, oblivious to the rest of us, block the aisle at the farmers' market when they double park their strollers for a chat; pet owners who imagine their guests don't mind having their privates assaulted by Fido's eager snout at the front door. And so on.

My list of pet peeves is probably no weirder or longer than most, as if that's an excuse to have one at all. It would probably be more useful, being spiritually correct for a moment, for me to wonder where my annoying habits might rank on others' lists, but that's not as much fun as just whining about something and finding a sympathetic ear. I love it when the other person echoes my sentiment with a nod and heartfelt "I know !" It's a sweet moment of connection, two whiners sharing the same airspace.

Some peeves have become friendship wreckers though. I finally had to give up what was a long and at time hilarious friendship with a New Yorker because I just couldn't get past the way she treated waiters. Since we were both foodies and ate lunch out fairly often, I had to weigh in, eventually, on the side of the waiters. Perhaps I was mistaken, but I interpreted her high-handed dismissive manner as a symptom of an attitude of exclusiveness. It just didn't sit right with me, anyhow, so we broke up.

Another friend is on thin ice at the moment because whenever we go out to eat she changes the table or the seating at least once because of lighting, heating or noise issues, then proceeds to grill the waiter about the menu, then makes substitutes, then often changes the order again. It's a nightmare for me, never mind the waiter.

A couple of years ago, following a colonoscopy and blood tests, I was diagnosed with a condition known as celiac disease, which is an allergy to gluten. This means that now I have to grill the waiter about ingredients, in a nice way, of course, and sometimes have to make substitutes. I go to great lengths to be funny and charming and apologetic when I do this because it's a health issue that I have to take seriously but I'm determined not to become one of "those" people. I've started to resent people who don't have a medical diagnosis but who jump on the bandwagon with whatever the most recent popular allergy discovery might be, just in case they have it too. I think they're doing it just as an excuse to make themselves a little special perhaps. I know at least three women who claim they are sensitive to this and that but they're sorta loosey goosey about it, sometimes eating freely and sometimes being picky. This messes it up for those of us who have serious medical allergies and I wish they'd find another way to distinguish themselves, for heaven's sake. Just relish being like everyone else, grateful that you don't really have to know every damned aspect of how those fries are really made - frozen and lightly floured or cut from fresh potatoes on a board not used for cutting bread, for example.

There's a fine line sometimes between the urge to be special and being a bloody nuisance to everyone else and I can't say I tread it very graciously, so I suppose I should just shut up and let people be themselves.

Sometimes I wonder if my irritation is just another of those European/American culture clashes where notions of manners, privacy, courtesy and consideration are viewed so differently. Like saying hi to perfect strangers on the street. You'd never do that in London, though you'd greet a known neighbor with a civil "good morning". Big cities, the burbs and the country have entirely different ways of relating to others in the neighborhood or in an anonymous crowd. The Japanese, Chinese, Dutch and British are seen as notoriously "reserved" because, so I read once, they inhabit very crowded countries and in order to preserve a sense of personal privacy, they do not acknowledge strangers readily. I suppose I've continued to operate from some unconscious etiquette manual imprinted on me in London and later Tokyo because I find it intrusive at times when total strangers insist on talking to me or greeting me as we pass on the street.

So forgive me for being reserved or picky about menus, I have come by it honestly. I wish I could be more forgiving of others' foibles and blind spots: I want my friends to lock up their noisy nosey dogs in another room when I come to visit; I'd like to write a stroller etiquette manual to raise awareness that there are mothers and others sharing space; I'd like to be silent when out walking, enjoying the scenery or thinking through a piece of work without having to acknowledge a stranger's mindless greeting. I'll respect your rights of way in tight spaces, your right to peace and quiet and privacy, and I'll listen with a sympathetic ear to anything that bothers you if you'll do the same for me. And if you're abusive and a pain in the butt princess however, it's gonna be over soon, sweetie. So if we really are all mirrors for one another, I've got to check the size of my tiara and butt before whining about yours, I suppose. That's only if I want to grow. All this business about growing is another pet peeve however...