Commando

I have always been one of those people to whom strangers feel compelled to divulge their life stories. I will be standing, unsuspecting, in a check-out line, when someone will decide that I have a welcoming face, and launch into a protracted tale of woe and heartbreak. Or she will discuss her opinions on the stock market or feelings about toaster strudel. I don't understand why standing in the vacinity of a person makes it seem like I have a deep, invested interest in the proximate stranger's life, but I really don't. Admittedly, I've heard some really entertaining stories, but the frequency with with people tell me personal information is shocking. I know that as a society, we all want to be friends with each other and feel close to people around us, but this doesn't mean that one can expect the same sympathy from a friend as from a stranger. It's not that I wouldn't care if we were friends, it's that what I want most from the moment is to purchase my carton of milk and go home.

Small talk is fine, even a build up in a conversation to more personal information is okay. But starting a first sentence with what a dickface your ex-boyfriend = NO. Usually, at least. But these stories and discussions can be interesting, and sometimes I can offer advice. What I cannot abide by is overshares, where acquaintances tell me things because they think it will shock me.

It distresses me that people always, more than anything else they wish to share, want to tell me that they are going commando. It's like people can't contain themselves. They will contemplate me for a second, to gage how I will react, and then blurt it out. At best, he will lean over in class and mention that he is not wearing underwear. At worst, she will describe how liberated she feels, and now strange denim feels against her butt. I can understand feeling adventurous and risque, but the experience is better served when not mentioned to anyone, especially me.

It's not that I'm grossed out, it's just that I don't want to know.