I walked up to the mailboxes at the same time as another guy. I’d never seen him before but he must live at the apartments. As he turned the key to his box, he looked over at me and said “How was your day?”

I thought at first that he must think I’m someone he knows - I mean that was an odd first thing to say to a stranger. So I turned my face full towards him and pretended I hadn’t heard. “What’s that?” I said.

Even though he could clearly see my face now, he still just repeated what he’d said the first time. Not wanting to be unnecessarily rude but tired from my workday, I just said “Not bad, you?”

“Oh, not too bad”

After a pause, I repented and added “One less day till the weekend.”

“Yep, that’s right,” he said. “Take ‘er easy now.” Then he walked off. Just a friendly guy.

Very different from the streets of NY, where you don’t even make direct eye contact with people - it would be seen as aggressive the same way dogs do. Just kind of glance over at them, then look away again. Any stranger that speaks to you is mentally unstable or wants something. It’s strangest on those subway trains where the seats directly face each other, just a few feet apart. You could reach out your arms and touch but still you pointedly look away and say nothing. If you were to say something as casual as I like that shirt, the other person would think you had a mind to steal it from them. So you pretend to ignore each other.

The ignore factor was taken to a whole ‘nother level when I worked as a security guard at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. As in most museums, there’s a guard posted every few rooms and we didn’t say anything to the visitors unless directly addressed - just shuffled around a little and watched what went on. And said “Hey, don’t touch that,” every now and then. Since there were no other distractions, and the art didn’t really change much, we watched the visitors - knew what each one was carrying and which room they had come from, and if they were going to be trouble. I learned to make conclusions about their temperament, the circumstances of their youth and upbringing, their philosophy of life, and their future financial prospects - all with just a glance.

But they never took much notice of us; the uniform just made us a part of the furniture. We walked like silent ghosts through the crowds for hours at a time, just waiting for the next break to go down to the canteen and have a conversation with a person. Often, if you were posted next to another guard, you’d wind up talking. It didn’t matter what you talked about or whether you knew or liked them. Sometimes, you’d have spent a long time talking to one of the other guards but when you saw them the next day, they didn’t even make eye contact or say hello. As if talking had been done in a moment of weakness forced on them by the virtual solitary confinement of the lonely museum guard job. It wasn’t like they actually wanted to talk to you in real life. Sometimes I’d see someone in the hallways or on break and couldn’t remember if this was a hello person or a not-hello person. I’d see them coming and just played it safe. Gave them the nod: I know you, I see you, and that’s as far as I’m going.

The nod’s a reliable one. I’m gonna go home now and practice, while checking my mail.