I write quite a bit of content here lightly—Good heartedly? Respectfully, even?—poking fun at others, specifically at those I deem—often with very little context—of being self-important assholes.
But, as karma so often does, every so often an encounter out in the world comes about to remind me that sometimes, to paraphrase fellow native Pennsylvanian Taylor A. Swift, “it’s me, hi, I’m the asshole, it’s me.”
Earlier today, I went to the gym, and as is typical, luxuriated in a post-workout sauna when I was done (an environment where I make plenty of judgements), and was dismayed by a man entering after me (I was flying solo, prior) who I’d prejudged from prior interactions as a talker, and the worst kind: the kind that talks at, not with with you.
Now, I could be scathing behind the safety of my computer screen, but generally, in person, my default is polite. I returned his greeting when he said hello, and when he started telling me about his day, I answered. It should be noted here that this gentleman is very southern—lots of “momma says,” a super thick drawl, local aphorisms I can’t discern or natural or put on—and very loud. That, combined with his overall look, makes it easy for him to fall into a bit of a country bumpkin stereotype, one that I regrettably cast him in when we first encountered one another about a year ago, and he talked incessantly while I was trying to relax.
The conversation was flowing, and I can’t recall exactly how it emerged, but religion came up. As soon as it did, I started steeling myself up for an uncomfortable conversation. I assumed—and we all know what happens when you do this—he’d start telling me the merits of the Baptist church or encourage me to check out his home congregation (and to give myself some credit, these are both things that have happened to me in the Gold’s Gym sauna), but instead, he said, “Doesn’t it piss you off how rich the pastor at the chuch next door is?” (there is a large megachurch in the same plaza as the gym), and we ended up having a super interesting, very insightful conversation about when we each first started questioning the religions we grew up in, and when we started realizing how many people mask greed with piety.
He didn’t just talk at me either. He asked questions about my own Catholic upbringing (and remembered from an earlier conversation, I don’t recall that I was from Pennsylvania originally), my thoughts on his, and, in general. At the same time, it didn’t make me think of anything new, per se, but it was a pleasant way to spend fifteen minutes.
And obviously, it reminded me that judging people by how they look or by how they’ve interacted with you in the past doesn’t always make you cynical, snarky, or acerbic. Sometimes it just makes you an asshole, and sometimes it’s good to be reminded of that.
AshevilleExplorer 