custom (n).

a1a14d3fb36b7898c7ff87ad7ac58723We all do this really dumb thing. We have [probably] met that person we see standing in line for coffee in the morning, or three tables down at dinner, or in that clothing store, or at the beach or the laundromat, or the fruit section or [worse] in the chip aisle. We met at Katie's birthday, or Sam's house warming, or John's friend's random date to that work function you went to because Audrey didn't want to go alone, or stuck on the fourth level of the sky dome trying to leave the Jay's game and everything was bottle necked and so we bantered about how tourists don't know how to walk for about twenty minutes. Or we haven't even met, but I know you're friends with Sarah and you know I'm friends with Sarah, mostly from Facebook stalking the cottage weekend one of us didn't get to go to. So now we are faced with this weird dilemma, a few months later, in the coffee line/ restaurant/ store/ nectarine bin, and we probably take out our phone, or we don't make eye contact, or we get really busy looking for something in our bags. Why do we do that? Why do we not want to be the one who is not remembered so strongly that we don't take the opportunity to make sure someone knows that they made an impression, if not that you just remember their name? Why do we not take that simple opportunity to acknowledge our five minutes of previous interaction, because sometimes we are just looking for an unexpected hello to get us through the day.