The bad news 鈥� apparently, these days we鈥檙e talking more and listening less .
A typical Psychology Today article says only 10 per cent of people listen effectively. The writer blames technology, the distraction of smartphones and so forth. Instead of listening, most of us just wait for pauses in the conversation so we can blather away.
How sad. Of course, for years, I was as guilty as anyone. When someone said 鈥淟isten to this!鈥� I鈥檇 invariably start thinking about Netflix, poutine or that shiny piece of cellophane on the ground.
But now it appears I鈥檝e become a excellent listener. Why? Because people are always talking to me. Often at great length. And sometimes they reveal deep, dark secrets.
Last week we took a trip to San Francisco. Took lots of taxis. Invariably, the drivers regaled us with the fascinating stories of their lives.
For example:
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鈥� A 60ish, pony-tailed cabbie says he鈥檚 been driving for 40听years. Came to San Francisco from Motown in 鈥�77 to see his sister and never left. Informs us there are many gay people living in the Castro district where we鈥檙e staying. The cabbie suggests we not be alarmed as 鈥� thanks to the tutelage of his wife and daughter鈥� he鈥檚 learned they鈥檙e 鈥渞egular folk鈥� just like anyone else.
Then the cabbie takes a call from his mom and tells her he loves her dearly.
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鈥� A 50ish, unshaven cabbie blames the influx of young workers from the high-tech industry for driving up San Francisco condo prices. Says these tech-nerds making tons of dough mostly spend evenings in high-priced condos eating take-out food and watching Netflix instead of taking taxis to restaurants and bars like normal human beings.
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鈥� A 70ish cabbie with a mustache and a distinctive accent (Turkish?) tells us his wife died of cancer. We learn this 30听seconds after entering. Asks where we鈥檙e from. Says sa国际传媒 is a good place to live because fresh air and non-polluted crops means contracting cancer is less likely. Asks if听we鈥檝e seen any orcas in sa国际传媒. Tells us orcas are super smart.
鈥� A 60-ish cabbie in a Hawaiian shirt says we鈥檙e his last fare of the night. Says he will go to a blues bar after 鈥� and adds we can come too if so inclined. We decline, citing exhaustion from climbing Coit Tower and seeing a drag queen show (not at the same time). Cabbie says he met his long-time girlfriend at blues bar. Says they each live in rent-controlled apartments which they鈥檙e reluctant to give up. States his belief that living apart is good for their relationship. Reveals he鈥檚 a former clinical psychologist and that his girlfriend is a famous costumer for commercial mascots.
For some reason, strangers always want to talk to me (the people who know me, not so much). This phenomenon really stepped up after I bought an 1966 Jaguar sedan a听year ago.
It turns out if you have a weird old car, people are keen to talk to you about it. This particular automobile attracts an exclusive brand of conversationalist, i.e., loquacious elderly men. Over the past year I鈥檝e had chin-wags galore with these guys.
It鈥檚 a mixed blessing.
Such t锚te-脿-t锚tes happen mostly in parking lots. I鈥檒l be approaching my car with a cartful of groceries. A grandpa in a Tilley hat will be standing beside it. He鈥檒l have a beguiling grin, which means 鈥渃ar chat time鈥�.
This isn鈥檛 great for me. Lacking mechanical skills, I听don鈥檛 know anything about my car except that it uses gas and oil.
When I convey this to Tilley hat guy, he鈥檒l invariably give me an automotive lecture.
鈥淒id you know the S-Type is a redevelopment of the Mark 2, and in some ways, it鈥檚 a superior automobile?鈥� he says.
鈥淣o,鈥� I say.
鈥淥h my word, yes! It has independent rear suspension 鈥� a major improvement over the Mark 2鈥檚 live rear axle. I听believe, too, the S-Type has a听twin carburetor, as opposed to the triple.鈥�
I always feel like mumbling in heavily-accented English, 鈥淚听鈥� drive 鈥� car,鈥� and then zoom away. But I never do.
An old gent at a florist鈥檚 shop once gave me a 40-minute talk on Jaguars. He told me how he and his wife used to enjoy driving their Jag on summer weekends. She liked to wear a sun bonnet! Also he gave me a full run down on the听Mini Coopers he used to own. There was quite a few of them.
I complained to my wife, saying that the ancient Jag had turned into an old-man magnet. She pointed out I鈥檓 well on the way to old-manhood myself and should be glad of the company.
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Next week: Choosing your Tilley hat.