Short Walks in Sumatra / 3

(third in a series of ten)

I walked along the path between the river and hill and every time anyone said, “Hello, Mister” I said, “Hello, Sir”, “Hello Ma’am.” All my life I’ve been hopelessly formal. I am terrible at routine transactions in the world, at interactions with so-called ordinary people.

I don’t believe in ordinary people. At least, I’ve never met any.

Often I’m up at the counter, it’s my turn to order coffee, and no words are coming out because this functionary, this part-time gal, is obviously a princess of the celestial empire.

Does this happen to anyone else?

Once I actually met the Empress of Japan and when I met her I thought, “My god, I’ve been meeting empresses all my life.”

Here he stands before me, Walt Whitman’s own radiant bag boy. “Paper or plastic,” he wants to know. “Would you like your milk in a bag?” And I am expected to actually respond. Something casual for this mere functionary—yeah, sure.

And naturally what I want to say is, “As Your Lordship deems best, I will humbly obey.”

Which really gets me looks in late-night Chicago.

The state of the world: When you show someone respect, they assume that you’re mocking them.

Everyone nowadays is supposed to be on first name basis. Me, I want to bring back the ‘thee’s and the thou’s.

I must learn to speak naturally and off the cuff. I must learn to pay no attention to the great light as it streams out your patient face.