May I Have Your Undivided Attention?

There are few things as fulfilling as that sense of being seen and understood.

David Brooks 

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I had this old refrigerator.

This and that kept breaking, especially the door handle.

I applied duct tape, Scotch tape, and Elmer’s.

I called repair services, solicited advice from neighbors, prayed, chanted, and talked to a guy who told me I needed emotional clearing. 

I went through Gorilla Glue until people started calling me “Tarzan.”

Some of my fingers still stick together.

One day, the clouds parted, and I set out to do what I had been assiduously avoiding.

I went in search of a new refrigerator.

Home Depot sits like a beacon on a nearby hill.

Lowes requires the longer quest of a modern-day Crusader seeking Constantinople. 

I warmed up my chariot and drove my happy ass up the hill to HD.

I knew the store, not like a plumber or even a DIY handyman, but I could home in on appliances like a rat to Gouda.

I located where the refrigerators stood like aluminum monoliths from an episode of Ancient Aliens.

No other customers crowded the area.

I rejected all of the pricey models, passed on the water fountains and ice dispensers on the outside of the front door, and searched for that magic word: SALE!

I don’t dither over appliance purchases.

That just wastes potential nap time.

No salesperson appeared to upsell me on a shiny new model with an extended warranty or sell me anything, for that matter.

I spied a young lady sitting in a cheap employee chair behind a cheap employee desk, staring at a cheap employee computer (I’m such a snob!).

I figured if I was going to get my nap for the day, I better get proactive, so I sat right in front of her in a cheap customer chair.

I sat patiently for several minutes, giving her my best version of my hungry but pitiful vampire stare. 

Without even a slight shift of her eyes, acting like she was trying to complete Grant’s memoirs as he lay dying, although more likely checking her Facebook account, she finally mumbled the long-awaited phrase, “Can I help you?”

Trying to add a measure of levity to the situation, I told her that I would like to purchase a refrigerator, and I had selected the Hewlett Packard model #ZHF5326772, knowing that Hewlett Packard has never made a single refrigerator.  

Not even a hint of a smile broke her poker face, her eyes trained solely on her beloved, albeit cheap, computer screen.

When she spoke, she mumbled almost incomprehensively to (at?) her screen.

I have been upstaged (to put it politely) by taller men, better-looking men, men with Rolls Royces, and men in expensive suits.

I have been ignored and rejected by women of all ages and with a variety of personality disorders, but I cannot recall the last time I was unlooked at by a plain young lady in a cheap chair obsessed with a cheap computer screen when I had my American Express green card in hand, waiting for a green light like Gatsby from this young non-graduate of the Dale Carnegie school of sales.

Continuing her hypnotic adventure, like an old hippie on shrooms, she started talking to her cheap screen about this model versus that, what they had in stock, what was on backorder, warranties, delivery dates, and a bunch of stuff I could not understand because of what may have been an “articulation disorder,” otherwise known as “lazy lips.”

With my nap time looming, craving just a brief moment of eye contact, I said, “Look at me. Talk TO ME!”

Uh oh!

I mistakenly believed that old-school maxim that the “customer is always right” and that, as a customer, I deserved a few brief moments of her undivided attention.

It did not end well.

I bought a nice new refrigerator from Lowe’s.

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I get tired of what I call my “cooking,” in fairness, more accurately described as “microwaving,” with the exception of an occasional “dump soup,” so I eat lunch in restaurants a lot, especially since the pandemic seems to have subsided (fingers crossed).

I love it when I want a refill of my iced tea, and the waiter or waitress walks by my table several times without so much as a glance at me or my glass.

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Failing to make eye contact is not the only way to avoid giving people your undivided attention.

At my age, I see a lot of doctors.

While some also talk to less cheap computer screens, many employ a slightly different tactic: conversational domination.

I read somewhere that the typical doctor interrupts a patient less than a minute after beginning a consultation.

I have chronic back pain.

For those lucky enough to avoid the orthopedic world of pain doctors and surgeons, I can share my experience briefly:

There is no pill they can give you that alleviates the pain and does not come with potentially adverse side effects.

You can’t beat the system, but if you play your cards well, you can improve your chances of some dreaded ulcer in your kidneys or other horrors brought to us by the wonders of modern medicine.

If these guys cannot come up with a pill to relieve back pain, do we really expect them to cure cancer?

I went to a pain doctor, recommended by several other doctors, seeking advice on the optimum use of current medications.

He burst into the spacious room for undersized patients and began to deliver a TED talk about back problems.

He was like a narcissist on Adderall.

After ten or fifteen minutes, I asked, “Do you want to know why I am here?”

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Then we have the group who cannot resist their phones.

I referred a woman to a therapist.

One day she was in a session with him, his cell phone rang, and he took the call. 

She fired him on the spot.

How many lunches have I sat through with people who interrupted the flow of our conversation numerous times by taking what were clearly non-emergency calls?

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I once had a friend.

When I went to his office, if his phone rang, he took every call, leaving me on indefinite hold while he ignored me.

If I called him on the phone (this was back in the days of landlines and “call waiting”) and received another call, it was the same deal.

One day, I got enough.

We haven’t spoken in years.

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This is not that hard!

People want your undivided attention, if only so they get to their naps on time.

Anyone who does not understand the importance of “undivided attention” never had a small child or a hungry cat.

If you are in a face-to-face meeting with me, make eye contact; otherwise, I worry that I may look like a Minotaur.

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In addition to eye contact failures, conversation dominators, phone junkies, and intentionally negligent restaurant personnel, in future installments, I will explore more comments and tips about better connecting, including:

·     Enunciating.

·     Speaking slowly in brief sentences.

·     Explicating technical terms.

·     Repeating yourself.

·     Repeating yourself (yes, that was intentional!)

·     Looking for cues that the listener understands what you are trying to say.

·     Mirroring behavior (good story here).

Remember: a chasm lies between intent and understanding.

I’ll have more to say about this – after my nap!

Drilling Down 

·     Connecting with Self and Others: Miller, Wackman, Nunnally, and Miller (1992).

·     Face to Face: The Art of Human Connection by Brian Glazer (2019).

·     How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen by David Brooks (2023).