I’m Unaware of the Social Etiquette For…
March 17, 2005
1: Busker/Walkman Encounters. Whenever I’m wandering absently around the city, or on my way to or from work, it’s almost always to a soundtrack from my MP3 player. Usually this involves zooming my way through a city train station tunnel - the kind almost guaranteed to be inhabitated by buskers.
Herein lies my dilemma. I’ll be roaring down the pavement to some thumping Mark of Cain blasting into my eardrums, when I spot some wistful, namby-pamby gazing desperately up at me as he mournfully plucks at an acoustic guitar.
I’ll usually be the only person walking in the area, but I’m not particularly keen to interrupt my morning dose of angry music to expose myself to any old busker’s audio syphillis. Nor should I feel obliged to.
But I’m always overwhelmed with busker guilt when this happens. I mean, it’d be far ruder if I plucked my headphones out for a few seconds, squinted in judgement at the busker, muttered “nah” then kept walking. It’s simply that I can feel every busker’s hateful stare burning into my back, assuming that I’m listening to some American band which is being played endlessly by Triple M.
Fair cop, buskers. But there’s only crap buskers at my train station. What’s the correct social procedure here?
2. Crack Addicts who Happen to Work at Gloria Jeans. I’m not hating on your blatantly PA-strength announcements to the other baristas that you came to work off your tits on coke. I’m just suspicious of your white, powdery hands which are making my coffee. Or crackuccino, as the case may be.
3. The More Fashionable Method of Destroying Natural Habitat in the Pursuit of Lemon-Reeking Hands. Men’s bathrooms are fraught with unwritten laws which can become severely emasculating if they’re not respected. An emerging dilemma is the choice between paper towel or hand-drier: why are they both in the same restroom in the first place? At least you’re permitted to choose which natural resource to destroy.
