By Amy Brewstein
I’ve been conducting research, informally and unscientifically for the last seven summers. I’ve been studying the friendliness patterns of Margate and Ventnor residents out for walks.
There are several categories: those alone, those in pairs or groups, those with dogs, those with strollers, and every combination of all of these. I have been noticing over the years how very few people when out walking on the streets (strolling, dog walking, power walking, stroller pushing, etc.) say hello.
I generally do my long walk in the morning. I walk the dog a mile and a half or so, looping around Atlantic Avenue, up to Ventnor Avenue. I include the specifics for the locals, who already have a clear vision of my route and the scenery: fountains, mailboxes, dog waste stations, and a steady stream of walkers.
I greet everyone who passes me with a “good morning”. In most cases, I’ve surprised them. “Oh my, you’re a human with the power of speech! Well, yes, I actually do see you. So yes, good morning,” they manage to get out. Many are grateful for my friendliness.
They live in a world where you would never say good morning first. Why leave yourself so vulnerable in such a dog-eat-dog (or shall I say dog-walk-dog) environment such as the mean streets of a beach vacation community?
When I walk early, there are very few people out. I am amazed that from a block away, people are actively not noticing me. Is it snobbery, the aforementioned vulnerability, obliviousness, or just rudeness? I do not know. But I press on. “Good morning, Good morning. Hello, how are ya? Nice day! Good morning.”
The most surprising example of this phenomenon happened several summers ago. I was walking on the Parkway early one morning, around 7 a.m. About a block away, walking toward me, were several people pushing a stroller. They looked to be the grandparents. I noticed that the toddler in the stroller had dropped his blankie. It was now on the ground, and they were walking away from it. I waved my arms wildly and gestured for them turn around and look down. They retrieved the blankie and continued toward me. I was poised for the gratitude, the small chit-chat about the importance of that blankie, and prepared for the thank you. But they walked right by me, engrossed in their conversation. No eye contact, no thank you, no acknowledgment. As they did, I simply said, “You’re welcome.” You’re welcome indeed.
Since COVID-19, it became appropriate, even polite, to cross to the opposite side of the street when someone is approaching. There were many valid reasons: germs, recommendations to stay 10 feet apart, the hatred of humanity. All valid reasons, I suppose. But the pandemic has ended. Now it’s just a signal of “I don’t want to engage, and COVID-19 made it acceptable for me to do this.”
I say good morning to groups of people, to solo walkers, to dogs and then their owners, and to children in strollers and then their guardians. The results are mixed. I am trying to send a message – a simple one – just say hello! I know, your dog isn’t friendly, you’re on a phone call, you’re listening to a book, but a nod and a wave or mouthing “good morning” would be lovely.
Of course I have come upon many lovely folks out there, shiny happy people laughing, (to quote R.E.M.) who offer a good morning with warmth and kindness. I live for those people. They eclipse all the others.
My cousin and I were walking to the market the other day, and I did my requisite hellos along the way. She sees how and why I do it, and the frequently surprised result from the person to whom I’ve just said hello. “You’re just baiting people now,” she said. I am. I am baiting the hook with kindness and hoping to get a bite.
