Activity #2

While standing or sitting, we stare at the bricks of a parking ramp, the pebbles near our shoes, or even the elegance or coolness or awfulness of our clothing. But we do not look at one another. Not really anyway. Only sporadically will we sneak an eye(s) in a stranger’s direction. And we tend to hold onto these peaks, hold onto them like a boy mesmerized by a graceful girl, all until the subject of our attention turns and spots our spying. Immediately our eyes run away, embarrassed of our ignoring the “No Wandering Eyes” rule of adult passengers.

A few mornings ago I took the metro transit Light Rail from the 28th avenue station, located a few minutes away from the Mall of America, to downtown Minneapolis. Before I boarded the train, however, I noticed some unique cultural habits from all waiting passengers, including myself.

First of all, as already narrated, we rarely looked at one another. For instance, while waiting on the platform, one gentleman in a business suit was staring into the 28th avenue parking ramp, one woman was glancing at herself in a hand-held mirror, and three other single riders were staring at the ground. As for myself, even when I snuck my attention away from counting the bricks of the platform to the business lady spotting herself in her mirror, I twisted away once she intuitively shifted her eyes to my intrusion. Immediately I knew that I had broken a passenger rule—No Wandering Eyes.

Secondly, we expressed our collective disconnection from not just our reluctance to look at one another, but also in the way that we stood separate from one another. As one might predict, we didn’t nonverbally communicate with intimate proxemics, personal proxemics, or social proxemics. Instead, we communicated with public proxemics. Thus, the space that which we put between each other was substantial. Instead of pinning ourselves near each other, we strung ourselves away from one another. The gentleman in the business suit, for example, stood a solid ten or fifteen paces away from his closest neighbor. Even when the business lady with the hand-held mirror arrived (she was the last arriving passenger) she intentionally scrolled past each waiting passenger—the business man, several other passengers, and finally myself—to occupy her own space at the far end of the platform. More to the point, three other passengers—one man and two women—each waited within separate partitions. Rather than sharing a partition, they required separate partitions. And no other waiting passenger, about fifteen or twenty in total, disturbed their partitions either. I imagine that if I sauntered into one of their partitions, they would have scrambled away to another partition,—a literal or figurative one—or would’ve scoffed under their breaths.

The final unwritten rule I would like to discuss is in regards to the general agreement to not verbally speak to one another. I waited for roughly ten minutes for the train to arrive and not one conversation or brief dialogue was conducted. In fact, only one sentence was muttered. Before one lady entered into her partition, she asked the business gentleman if he knew the time. But, instead of verbally replying to her question, he gestured to a screen located underneath the canopy for which displayed the time. This gentleman, however, wasn’t the only person who didn’t wish to speak. For instance, the majority of us were listening to our iPods. Thus, rather than participating in an external conversation we consumed ourselves in an internal world, a world where no other person can penetrate.

Perhaps these rules might not apply as distinctly to children or close friends. Perhaps children might feel free to look at whomever they please, and perhaps close friends might feel free to converse openly. But on this particular morning no children were present, and no friends, if there were any, distinguished themselves. Instead, all persons boarding the train were disconnected adults; strangers who, for the most part, intuitively understood the key unwritten passenger rules. I imagine that if an adult similar to myself sauntered onto this platform possessing zero or little prior knowledge of the unwritten rules that he or she would catch-on rather quickly. After all, on this platform, no external personalities exist. Every single rider is expected act in an introverted way.

Question: The book talks about culture differences a lot. For instance, it mentions that in some cultures eating dogs is normal. If you were forced to live in a different culture do you think you would willingly/unconsciously adapt to their behaviors and beliefs? Or do you think you would stick with your own?