So we’re just playing dumb then, are we? Righto. An extremely confusing study of San Francisco’s transport services has found that not only are people completely on board with driverless taxis, they are also willing to pay 50% more and wait significantly longer for them. Whyever could this be, eh? Most of the mooted explanations have been largely practical – driverless taxis are proven to be safer (until the machines rise up as one and wipe out humanity). They can’t be over the limit, on their phone at the wheel or give in to road rage. And yes, these are technically valid reasons, but come on. The real answer, which no one is admitting, is that driverless taxis mean we don’t have to talk to anybody.
It’s not surprising that many of us would happily put our lives in robot hands to dodge the horror of panic-asking a living, breathing cabbie if he has been busy tonight. We exist in a time when the majority of Britons would rather receive a text than a phone call. So many salons, all over the globe, now offer silent haircuts – where it’s pre-agreed there will be no chat – that they barely register as unusual any more. Self-service checkouts – the driverless taxi of the supermarket – are more labour intensive, more annoying, yet still exceptionally popular. Keeping stumm now seems to be our society’s raison d’etre.
One of my friends painstakingly picks slivers of mushroom out of his favourite takeaway dish one by one because there is no option to remove them on the food delivery app. If he rang the restaurant to order it, he could ask them to exclude mushrooms, but he won’t consider it. A former colleague nearly had an embarrassing accident on a long flight because she didn’t want to ask the man in the next seat to let her out to use the loo, in case it opened a conversational channel between them. When she told this story in the office, everyone nodded sagely, accepting her decision as perfectly rational. It appears that some of us will go to just about any lengths to avoid talking to people.
Several tactics can be used to deter your fellow man or woman from speaking to you. The classic is to pretend to be on the phone, but this can be perilous and requires you to know your angles. If the other party is afforded a glimpse of your screen, and has ever seen a phone before, they will immediately recognise your lock display and the jig will be up. The greater danger is that you get a phone call in the middle of your faux call, making it clear you were faking. A lower risk/lower reward strategy is wearing headphones, particularly if combined with an engrossed expression, but they can be removed quickly and easily so success can’t be guaranteed. Further methods include fast walking – you are in too much of a hurry to stop and chat – and looking sad/worried – you are in too much turmoil to stop and chat.
However, there are times – glorious, effortless times – when there’s no need to plot and plan. The planets align and magic occurs – simultaneously, two people who do not want to talk act as if they haven’t seen each other. It doesn’t mean they don’t like one another, or that there isn’t respect or even admiration between them – they simply can’t be bothered right now because life is a lot. This mutual ghosting isn’t arranged, but unspoken, instinctive, written in the stars. In the best cases, it is almost choreographed, as the two move around, giving the widest berth possible without making it conspicuous, lost in thought, simply not noticing anything or anybody, honest guv. The bond between these souls is precious, sacred, but fragile. If it snaps, if one person messes up and accidentally catches the other’s eye, they will both have to endure an excruciating performance: “Oh, my goodness – I didn’t see you there! What a surprise! Hello!”
Examples of this tense tango can be witnessed at bus stops and train platforms all over the country, especially during the morning or evening commute. You have to look out for them closely, though –but don’t do that, obviously, because then you might see someone you know and have to speak to them.
