A Good Friend

Fun Fact: I’ve got a good friend whom I’ve never spoken to and whose name is completely unknown to me.

Now, after reading the above statement, I’m going to guess at your initial response, based entirely on your gender:

Guy: “Lucky.”

Girl: “What??”

Yeah, guys often tend to value efficiency and simplicity in matters such as these, opting to instead save their brains for other things, such as determining the mathematical chances of their favorite team making the playoffs or trying to figure out how to talk to girls.

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make here is that simplicity is generally good for guys, which goes a long way in explaining my good friend whom I’ve never spoken to and whose name is completely unknown to me.

Let me elaborate:

Not far from my house is a paved, thee-mile loop, perfect for jogging, walking, and evading the local authorities. I’ve taken to using it quite often, which means that over time I’ve had to develop a specialized technique for encountering others going in the opposite direction. The point of this is to minimize the chances of social interaction, since—at least in my experience—social interaction inevitably leads to social awkwardness.

Now, after reading that last statement, I’m going to guess at your initial response, based entirely on if you know me personally or not:

You Know Me Personally: “I can see that.”

You Don’t Know Me Personally: “What??”

Yeah, sometimes I tend to overthink things, but it’s all in an attempt to keep things simple in the big picture. Anyway, my technique works as follows:

When I encounter somebody on the trail, I initially hope they’re so engrossed in some activity—such as looking at their phone, wondering why they brought their 800-pound, high-velocity dog along with them, or evading the local authorities—that they won’t even notice me pass. If, however, they’re paying attention to their surroundings, I glance in their direction for the briefest of moments, just to be polite. With any luck, we won’t make eye contact, leaving me to conclude that this person is either too snobby to waste time on me or too busy calculating playoff probabilities in their brain. Either way, I can then happily avert my gaze and keep on trucking, satisfied that I tried to be polite. If, however, we end up making eye contact, I will reluctantly nod. (A downward head nod, mind you, not an upward one, as those should be reserved for spouses, other loved ones, and Cy Young Award winners.) Bear in mind, now, that eye contact and a nod is an absolute worst-case scenario, as it can lead to return nods and perhaps even {shudder} waves. (There’s no coming back from a wave. After you exchange one of those, you’re obligated to repeat the process every time you encounter that person until the end of time. In fact, if you ever find yourself in such a predicament, moving to a different state may be the only way to extricate yourself.*)

This brings us to my friend, whom I met on the trail years ago and still see quite often. When we first crossed paths, I did the ol’ polite glance over in his direction, but he was having absolutely nothing to do with it. His eyes were fixated intently on the ground right in front of his shoes, making it obvious that he wanted no part in meeting new people. However, what made this different from other encounters I’d had was that I sensed there was nothing rude or snobby about it. Instead, it was just coldly-efficient and businesslike. I then felt something wash over me, like he was reaching out to me telepathically with the following message: “Look, I’m here, you’re here, and it’s going to keep on happening, so let’s not make a big deal out of it, okay?”

And so, right off the bat, I liked the guy. I mean, who wouldn’t? From the get-go he’d put us in a position where we’d never have to speak to each other—or even attempt eye contact— no matter how many times we met! That in itself deserved maximum respect!

Since then I’ve bumped into him many times, and it's always been the same thing: Head down, eyes to the ground, no attempt to even acknowledge my existence. He’s amazingly consistent, to the point where I’m pretty sure I could walk past him wearing a giant chicken costume and he still wouldn’t bat an eye. Regardless, due to his blunt simplicity and consistency, at some point I decided we were good friends, and as a good friend I’ve found that I enjoy not sending him Christmas cards, not asking him about his personal life, and, in general, not knowing a single thing about him besides having a vague recollection of his facial features. That, in my opinion, is the basis for a solid, long-lasting relationship. In fact, I’d like to think that if we were to randomly meet in a grocery store, we’d both smoothly turn in opposite directions and inherently know to shop in alternating aisles until one of us was able to make a successful escape.

And you just can’t put a price on a friendship like that.

* I miss you, Wisconsin!