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Good Advice

20 Sep

Dear Dave,

My office building is filled with long narrow halls in which one can see others coming at a fairly significant distance. What is appropriate eye contact protocol for these situations? What distance should I smile or nod at? And what are the general rules about smiling or nodding based on relationship status? How do you know when someone has crossed the line that means you should acknowledge them? Can that status change over time? Like say, I worked with them on a committee for a few weeks, but now it’s been about a year since we’ve talked as individuals. Do I still smile? Or just nod? Or not acknowledge them?

Sincerely,

Shy Eyes in Indiana

Dear Shy Eyes,

Let’s start with what not to do… which is worry about it.  Casual nodding is an imperfect process.  You never know what the opposing party is bringing to the nod.  What was the obscure trail of imagined causality that swept their Chipotle-stuffed selves into your hallway? We can only hazard a guess.  If someone get slighted by your shy eyes… it is most likely their deal.  Some supervisors will become petulant if a smile/nod is left out and they feel like they have only underlings and no friends.  Smile and nod at others and they will think they are surrounded by ass kissers and still utterly alone in their increasingly hollow financial success.  Such is life. There is a dark side that must be transcended.

However, things like the nuanced no eye contact high-five could bring bountiful gifts of karmic pleasure.

Here is a mostly inclusive “rule”.

The smile/nod/hello should be delivered inversely based on level of intimacy with the participant.

People you remember but barely know should get the full eye contact, beaming smile, combined with sweet and verbally resonant “Hi” or “Hello” or “Good Morning” (Never say “have a great weekend” because the reason you don’t see them regularly may be because they work on weekends.  If you say “Have a great weekend” to a Saturday employee they will immediately classify you as a blood thirsty fascist). The classic honey-dripped hello will always make both parties warmly invigorated.  The scant acquaintance will think you are an observant and considerate co-worker for remembering them. You will expand your connection to the soul of the collective.  More of its resources will become available to you.

People that are occasional players in your work game are more complicated.  You never engage with each other. They have some job you could never personally imagine doing, but they have to walk by you desk on a bi-weekly basis. Awkwardness is their constant companion. Here is what you do. Never force the eye contact… let them look at their cell phone on the pass by if it is going to happen. However, if you feel their icy stare on the back of your neck, be ready for the 75% sincere and elongated “Hey-ey”.  They aren’t frequent enough to be ignored to but too frequent to endure consistent waves of warmth and compassion.  The best solution is for both parties to exchange non-verbal indications of pleasant busyness or if necessary… the false frantic/swamped.  Let’s face it. If you both liked each other enough to get a beer after work you wouldn’t be in this position would you?  WARNING: Whatever you do… don’t start some kind of free-form conversation.  Trust the weirdness of the vibe.  Especially if your employer has a loose policy on background checks.

You can treat work friends however the fuck you want to.  They are your friends right? Say nothing or tell them that you dreamt of giant cat sentinels that spoke in shapes and colors.  This is your safe place fora  stream of consciousness anecdotal mind gym.  Blow them away with witty pop culture observations and immature fart noises. This could also be the place to seemingly ignore, continue with your simultaneous sales call/email war/chair yoga, and then get that swift crisp no look high-five.  They won’t be in style forever… best clap the contorted hands of modern consumption while we can.

The above is my actual “advice.” Below you will find….

What Dave Actually Does:

1) Worries the implications of meaningless personal interactions constantly.

2) Carries a bag of intensely charming anecdotes that allows people to really like him but never actually know him.

3) Believes that the smile/nod issue is one of the many inherent dilemmas of an overworked culture obsessed with an unholy perversion of success.

Here to help,

Dave Good

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Terrified and Inebriated.

10 Mar

Hello nearest and dearest.  It feels so great to be back with a new show.  Tune in and listen to me and my first guest Lucas Koski discussing pressing issues like dating rituals, alcoholism, and Herbert Hoover.  Also, I would like to offer the warmest appreciation for my new audio specialist Patrick Blomquist.  I think you are going to like him.

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Call Centered

28 Jul

Dead of winter, the economy was sucking, and I was telephone fundraising for a large non-profit. The pressure was building at mid-month and we were behind schedule for our goal.  I was new at the job and had not done similar work in at least 5 years. Everyday a fundraiser starts with zero and my pile of leads was dwindling.  Reluctantly, I turned to the one pink stack I had yet to touch. Two words were written bold face above every name, address, and phone number.  Those words were: “Lapsed Seniors.”

1-800-822-9919

I didn’t even like calling current seniors. Asking the aging for money felt like constantly forgetting my grandmother’s birthday.  Guilt is the enemy of the fundraiser and the typical, supportive, retired educator easily induced annoying bouts of self-criticism.  Regardless, we needed the money and I started pounding out the phone numbers.  What happened next was entirely unexpected and unprecedented. For the next forty-five minutes every single person I called was dead.

I am not an asshole. I would immediately offer sincere condolences and gratitude for what I am sure was a lifetime of charity.  Then I would steady myself, take a deep cleansing breath, and call another dead person.  After the first seven minutes I was casually contemplating my own mortality.  After the next seven I was acutely aware that our lifetimes were nothing more than insignificant blinks in the infinite eyes of Universe. What happened after the next seven? Something very strange… every time I hung up the phone I had to take a good 30 seconds and laugh my ass off. Not only was my job hopeless; life was hopeless. I laughed hard at the grand joke God had played on us all. Every minute after that was a minute closer to my own death.

I had now been at work for nearly an hour and hadn’t reached a single living resident.  Thankfully, I had scheduled the next hour for youthful, healthy, regular contributors. After a brisk walk around the building, I reset myself to begin anew.  I was calling for a Mister, but a kind professional woman picked up the phone. This is what she said: “I’m sorry he can’t come to the phone right now. His legs were recently amputated.” Immediately I descended into a sad pensive silence. I seriously considered allowing myself to cry. My Universe was now an absurd circus of cruel disappointment.  The message was clear: death, dismemberment, and worse are only waiting for the right moment to pounce.

An observer would have seen a man lost deep in the carpeted textures of his shared cubicle. My soul was quiet and listening to an internal voice speaking simple eternal words. “Fuck it, Dave Good… Fuck it. Fuck guilt, fuck money, fuck pain, and fuck death. Fuck. It. All.” For the next few hours I lived in a world without fear. When someone answered the phone, we were the only two people in the world. Our conversations were blessed and sincere.  We spoke about the greater purposes of life and the true nature of beauty.  Then clearly, peacefully, and fearlessly, they relinquished the numbers of an accepted major credit card.

The Dave Good Show thanks you for your continued and generous support.

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Welcome to The Dave Good Show.

13 Jul

I was lying on my couch absorbing the latest Chuck Klosterman book “Eating the Dinosaur” when I came across a word pairing, a term, that satisfied a desperate intellectual need.  The pairing? “Post-Taste.”  After reading these two words I realized that one of my favorite drunken monologues had just been rendered obsolete.  I have been living in a post-taste world for years and I just didn’t know how to say it.

I used to express post-taste to whoever was buzzed and in my booth like this,  “I don’t care what you like, I care why you like what you like. It doesn’t matter what you are watching and listening too. It matters what you are getting out of it.”  Hopefully after I uttered these words, at least one of my hipster companions started contemplating their ipod play list and ironic t-shirt in new and profound ways.  Post-taste is a philosophy of the future.

A post-taste attitude will set America free.  We can all just like what we like and let go of the concern that what we like could secretly and unknowingly define us as totally and utterly lame. Disney movies? I think they mostly suck but maybe you have brilliant impressions about the cartoon’s ability to exploit the universal anxieties surrounding a mother’s mortality.  Baseball? I have trouble getting behind fat smokers that call themselves athletes, but maybe you are tired of all the glory being bestowed on the muscled winners of the genetic lottery.  In a post-taste world you never have to write someone off because of their media choices.  You could even authentically continue a date after she mentions her favorite song to make out to is “Crash” by Dave Matthews.  Our “taste” is very different than our “soul.”

However… to be completely honest… the opportunity to identify with those who embrace the Elvis to my Beatles was not what lead me to the post-taste epiphany.  It was really the opposite. There is nothing worse that hearing someone spout off about loving something for the wrong reasons… nothing worse than someone loving what you love because of ideas that you hate.  Post-taste gives us all the freedom to dislike the other people at the concert/movie/ art opening.  Yes I too love Joe vs. The Volcano… but that doesn’t mean you aren’t a gigantic douche.  Our lines of connection are deeper the patterns of our consumption.

Welcome to The Dave Good Show.

I hope you love me for all the right reasons.

God help us all if they kiss.

13 Jul

The following scene is an approximate reenactment of an exchange I have repeatedly witnessed in grocery stores across America.

Couple separates from cart in produce section of grocery store.

“Wife” grabs a bunch of approximately nine bananas while “Dude” peruses the apples. Both are almost always wearing either expensive or ridiculous exercise clothes. They may or may not be in excellent shape.

Dude: (insensitive and sarcastic) I am sure we are really going to eat nine bananas.

Wife: (looking around to see if anyone is witnessing what a complete douche her husband is) It’s called Potassium. (used-car salesman smile)

Dude: (contempt) You always know best. (looks down and too the left, eyes expressing the limitless depression of someone living a life based only on fear)

Wife: (pure condescension and utter pity) How many bananas do you think we should get?

Dude: (passive aggressive/vaguely sexist) As many as “we” can afford.

At this point they may now notice that I am watching and start holding hands or being affectionate as an act of defiance. However, I can still tell that they are now remembering they did not fully Purel their cart and are convinced the hand they are clutching will finally infect them with violent terminal disease they always knew it would.  God help us all if they kiss.  Every time a contemptuous couple fake kisses in public … an angel loses it’s wings.

Oh wait…

Let me guess…

You’re staying together for your kids.

I have a surprise for you. They aren’t buying it either.