Don’t Let A Stranger Lower Your Frequency
A sarcastic comment from a stranger came at me like a cold splash of water.
A few nights ago, I was enjoying a friendly meet-up in St. James’ Park (just in front of Buckingham Palace). It was a regular gathering of an online group who are working towards, or have already achieved, financial independence.
My husband is a regular contributor to both the online and offline meet-ups.
Occasionally, I too will attend.
It was a lovely, summer’s evening, and packed with a chilled bottle of rosé, I met up with my husband, for an evening of chatting with a few old friends, and meeting a few new ones.
As I’m not a regular attendee, I was forewarned by my husband that a certain participant, who I’ll call David, though not his real name, was kind of rude. He’d already met him on a previous occasion, didn’t like him, and on this particular evening, politely greeted him, then made his away to other people.
As the evening wore on, and people shifted, moved around to talk to other people, I found myself sitting on a blanket, with David.
The small talk started out fine.
After a few minutes, he asked me where in London did I live? Don’t worry, it wasn’t creepy. Just a common question. So I told him. He nodded and said “What part?” I got a little more specific with him. He then explained that his grandparents used to live in the same area, so he was somewhat familiar with it.
Then he said:
“I was born in Hackney.”
Okay, I thought, I’ve got something to add to that:
“Oh, my Dad was born in Hackney.”
Now, here’s the thing. Although I live in London, I’m a Canadian expat 🇨🇦.
And I sound like it.
I don’t have a British accent at all. So when I tell people of my British roots, they respond with mild surprise.
Not this guy.
He looked me dead in the eye, and said in a monotone voice:
“Wow. Fascinating.”
As if I’d just told him my home insurance policy number.
I was so taken aback by his bald-faced sarcasm, and well, plain rudeness, that I actually started laughing.
I could have pointed out that my father being born in Hackney was equally as fascinating as his grandparents living in my part of London, back in the day.
But I didn’t.
I just said “Well, I’m off to the loo (bathroom) now. Take care.” I picked up my bag and my drink and just wondered over to my husband and the group he was with. I didn’t even pretend to go anywhere else.
I don’t know what this guy’s deal is.
Whether he was challenging me to meet him at his level or not.
Perhaps.
That’s his baggage to carry and his energy he has to live with.
But, I don’t have to do either. I have no interest in getting into an adversarial encounter with a stranger in the park.
It’s just not worth the energy drain.
At the end of the evening, as we were leaving the park and heading towards the tube station, I told my husband what David said.
Hubby replied with laughter too.
Then said:
“Told you he was a dick.”
Yeah, to be fair, he did.
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