COLUMN: Stopping to say hello

From Jeremy Reiss', "Vegas, Baby," Fall '00 From Jeremy Reiss', "Vegas, Baby," Fall '00It happens just about every day. You're taking a stroll down Locust Walk, on your way to class or the gym. And suddenly, from 100 feet away, like a warning light, it appears. They are the people on the fringe -- those who are neither friends nor enemies; with whom you talked once, twice, even multiple times, but never got to know. You might remember when you met this random student or you might not. But all that matters is that somehow over the course of your college career, that acquaintance has been steadily reduced from the object of a friendly conversation to that of a half-hearted nod. Everyone knows that of the seemingly infinite number of students one meets after first arriving at Penn, a very small percentage end up as a part of one's social life. But while the memories of those acquaintances may fade into a blur, there are always others somewhere in between that remain clear even though you may have lost touch. Maybe you lived on the same floor but never became friends. Maybe you worked on a project in class. Now, for whatever reason, walking past these people can be quite awkward. Usually, instead of a sudden change, this transition happens in stages. First there's the stop-and-talk, replete with the obligatory "How have you been?" A few months later, the greeting is reduced to the walk-by, and the polite "Hey, how are you?" Once a year goes by and the relationship hasn't been restarted or advanced, this person has officially reached fringe status, where, at most, nods are exchanged. This might sound familiar. Sometimes, as Fringe Person X approaches, I'll try to look away, concentrating on the intricate design of the sidewalk. But more often than not, my eyes are a dead giveaway and I'm caught. "Don't look right at her and it will be quick and painless," I tell myself. Why are we so insecure about these situations? And why the reluctance to keep giving our acquaintances a friendly greeting? Part of it undoubtedly stems from the fear that our gestures won't be reciprocated -- that our one-time friend has either forgotten who we are, will pretend he or she forgot or will simply ignore us. Could it be that this person is from a time in our lives we'd like to keep behind us? Or perhaps, do we just assume our counterparts feel that way about us? With some, the greetings eventually stop, as if both parties had never met in the first place. And that is fine. But four years is a long time. As for all of those to whom you continue to wave, nod or even raise an eyebrow in recognition, aren't you curious to know more about them? If nothing else, I'd be interested in hearing what some of the people I spent time with freshman year are doing after graduation. Sure, with our busy schedules and ambitious goals, many of us would rather not waste time to talk to someone we hardly know anymore. But in a more casual setting, I think we can all transcend the fringe. Beneath almost every casual nod, perhaps, there is a person who actually does want to be friendly. It may just be that our intuitions have been all wrong. That guy from that freshman seminar may actually love to know what you're doing. The girl from down the hall may find it long overdue to hear about how your life has been. Whether you're still searching for a close group of friends or satisfied with your social life, it can be refreshing to have a real conversation with someone you've only casually acknowledged for a while. Years later, you might just find an entirely new connection with someone with whom you thought you had nothing in common. A few months ago, when I struck up a conversation with someone I hadn't talked to since sophomore year, he seemed more genuinely interested in the things I was doing than some of my own friends. Of course, as the saying goes, you can't be friends with everyone. But next time you see that fringe person across the room or down the street, don't resist that crazy urge to start a conversation. Either that, or just ignore me. Because I, for one, am sick of nodding.