Did I ask? At 9:05 a.m., my mother and I were in a Tim Hortons occupied mostly by employees and a few construction workers. We’d gotten up at 7:45 to drive me to the ferry terminal. I had gotten into Vancouver days earlier and had spent almost every minute with my mother, going through every possible topic of conversation. We saw a play; we talked about the play. Got coffee at Starbucks and ate blueberries at my aunt’s condo while the cat lounged on the coffee table; we talked about the state of the world, and my auntie gave me a book to read, because she always gives me books to read.
Between that, and between navigating our way through a city we don’t live in, maybe we needed a break from each other. Maybe we had been away from our phones for a while and wanted to read the news. Maybe I just really like scrolling on Twitter. Whatever the case, we sat in our booth and looked at our phones, quiet. Grew quieter when you walked up to our booth to make a comment about my mom and I being on our phones, ignoring each other. When you did that, and I’m just wondering, did you hear me ask for your opinion?
It was a super inoffensive comment, and I’m pretty used to people from older generations letting me know how they feel about the evils of technology and social media. Setting aside what you said, because that isn’t important, I’m more focused on the why.
There are two reasons I can think of. The first is that you are lonely, and you were seeking validation in whatever form. You knew we would probably just laugh and nod. The second is that—probably unknowingly, but who am I to make excuses for you?—your true motivator was to feel powerful. You knew you were going to make us uncomfortable. That’s the game. You say things to people that you have no business speaking to, and you say things that will throw them off. It doesn’t matter what you say; it’s the audacity of it.
“Look at what I can say to you. Look how bold I can be.” That’s the message behind your actions.
Because if I had gotten upset with you, right there in a Tim Hortons, I would have looked crazy. I would have been that crazy b*tch who overreacted because of a harmless joke. But it’s not about the joke—it’s about the situation surrounding it. It’s about the fact that you felt comfortable with using time and energy to make another person uncomfortable.
It’s not something I haven’t seen before. I worked as a waitress for four years. Male customers often made it their mission, their game, to knock the server out of their rhythm. They would say something shocking or confusing. They were just “messing around.” People working in the service industry, particularly women, are easy targets for this because they can’t make a scene. They can’t tell you that you’re out of line, to shut up and get out. These men never say or do anything bad enough. Just enough to make a girl uncomfortable and on edge.
Because it’s funny. Because you know there won’t be consequences.
And there weren’t for you. You knew that we, quiet and minding our own business, weren’t going to start an argument in the middle of a Tim Hortons at 9:05 a.m. My mom just laughed off what you said and agreed that she and I should be talking to each other instead of looking at our phones. I didn’t look at you at all, embarrassed that I couldn’t think of something to say to you that would explain why it made me so angry that you felt like you had the right to approach me and try to make me feel bad for using my phone.
You, in your reflective vest and with your reflective bald head, probably didn’t think twice about the interaction once you climbed into your truck and drove away. You might have felt good about yourself. You might have felt like you’d really given us something to think about, rather than continue to look at the technology that’s killing human connection.
I wish I could say that we brushed it off and didn’t give you a second thought. That I didn’t fixate on those ten seconds, reading into things and regretting that I didn’t say something witty in return. But my mom and I thought and talked about it for the next hour, and I hate that we did. You soured a perfectly mediocre breakfast.