Maddy Butcher produces the radio and podcast program “Awe, Nice!”
Last year, in a fit of haste, I damaged the lockset of the camper I live in. For months, opening and closing the door was tricky. My dog could open it with her snout. A strong southwesterly wind could open it. But close it too firmly and you’d have to climb out the window.
This year, determined to make things right, I headed to the hardware store. There, I could get screws and a solution. More significantly, the visit would be part of a deliberate quest to go analog, to get away from digital support and seek out eye contact and dialogue. Call it a corrective reckoning, where person-to-person exchanges are intentionally sought and favored over YouTube and online orders.
Over the past couple of decades, we’ve unthinkingly allowed sociable dealings with strangers to be skimmed from our days, like cream from milk. If digitization makes things better, why have I been feeling worse?
Do you remember those long-standing connections your parents had with acquaintances and relative strangers? My mother would visit Tetreault’s Market on Union Street in Brunswick, Maine, once a week. Ray Tetreault, the butcher, knew my mom’s budget, how many mouths she was feeding and what cuts she liked. My father bantered daily with the owner of Day’s News & Variety Store, where he picked up the morning newspapers. In turn, as a kid, I learned to consider people behind counters as acquaintances, or, at the very least, fellow humans worthy of passing connection. Other stuff came with these interactions, like that endangered reflex: cordiality.
Today, some might mock such scenes as Norman Rockwell-esque — sentimental, superfluous. Traditional sociable exchanges have become meme fodder, boomer habits ripe for ridicule. When shopping, I can feel the eyerolls of my adult children when I exchange chitchat with other customers or a cashier, as if the only people I should engage with are family and co-workers.
Phooey. I say encounters with strangers are touchstones for getting back to a more grounded existence. This post-pandemic, zero-contact ethos does not make me feel whole or happy. Maybe a trip to the hardware store would.
I walk in and head for the screw and bolt aisle, which is a little like heading to the nonfiction section of a good bookstore. It’s overwhelming, especially if you don’t know how things are organized. Jay, bespectacled and gray-haired, hears my story of camper-door woe and helps me find ¼-20 screws (a quarter-inch diameter and 20 threads per inch) with a Phillips head. But something is still awry. He examines the replacement lockset (which, lacking a local option, I had to order online) and sees that I need self-tapping screws because they’re going into metal with no premade threads.
At this point, Kathy, who has worked at the store for 20 years, gets looped into the discussion. This is not to say that I’ve been passed off or abandoned. No. Jay and Kathy are schooled in question-to-checkout service. Younger customers might feel creeped out by such attentiveness, but I’m flattered that they’re teaming up to help me. After a thorough scan of the considerable screw inventory, we determine that the job requires a ¼-20 tap and wrench set.
For that, the three of us head over to the tools section. They find what I need, but it’s pricey. I was trying to stay under 50 bucks for the whole project. Jay and Kathy agree that I should try the auto-parts store a mile east. “You should be able to get what you need for less,” Jay says. I buy five screws for 35 cents apiece and head down Main Street.
There, I show them my lockset and the new screws and explain what I need. Two guys in green shirts nod knowingly and find the right set — it’s 20 bucks. I happily proceed to the register. But Ray, who had helped me find the set and is now ringing me up, pauses for a moment, rubs his chin, and suggests I buy a cheaper set, since it’d serve my purpose just as well. Twelve bucks out the door!
I get that these kinds of interactions don’t work for everyone. So much easier and less time-consuming to scroll and click, especially if you worry about language barriers or have difficulty getting around. Thank goodness, then, for the legions of online problem solvers and YouTube University.
Digital options are nice, but the spontaneous messiness of real interactions is nicer. How sad that doing everything online is now automatic and makes in-person contact seem irrelevant. The rise of “friendly” chatbots and artificial “agents” may make matters worse. No wonder teens aren’t learning the essentials of social interaction that older generations took for granted. No smile, no small talk, no handshake is the new normal.
I refuse. I don’t want my memories to be solely of family, friends and co-workers. I want possibly pointless, possibly thought-provoking, possibly helpful encounters with strangers, too. The other day at the supermarket, the cashier noticed my avocado and said, “I like avocados. They say they’re healthy, but is a whole avocado too much for one person to eat?” It’s a good question. I’m still thinking about it.
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