His full name is John Smith (because his parents knew how boring he was going to grow up to be, I guess) and he's around my age. He's sort of good-looking, in a can't-be-bothered-shaving, too-cool-to-care-about-how-I-dress kind of way, and I'll admit, when I first met him, I kind of thought we might hit it off. I put extra time into my hair and makeup the first few weeks I worked here and tried to think of clever conversation to make.
But the thing is, John doesn't care about clever conversation. Or conversation in general, really. Like, there was this one time I walked into the break room and heard him speaking Spanish on the phone. So when he hung up, I said, all bright and interested, "I didn't know you spoke Spanish!"
And he said, "Yup," and started scrolling on his phone. I waited for him to elaborate, but when it became clear that was never going to happen, I asked, "Did you learn as a kid or an adult?"
I was planning to tell him about this interesting study I'd read about how age impacts your ability to learn new languages.
Without looking up from his phone, he said, "My mom's Dominican."
I already knew that because of the time John was away for a few days and Dave told me he was visiting his grandparents in the Dominican Republic, but I nodded like it was news to me. "That's cool. I wish I was bilingual. I'm trying to learn French, but it's super hard. I should've done French immersion in school."
To which he responded with a nod. No actual words, no "mm" of acknowledgment, just a slow nod, like what you do when someone is being really annoying and you're trying to get them to take the hint.
I should've just given up then, but at the time I thought he was cute enough to bother trying once more. So I asked, "What language do you think in?"
He stared at me. "What?"
"I just...wondered what language you thought in," I said.
"Like, if you learn two languages in childhood, do you think in both of them, or just one? Or does it depend on the situation?"
He stared at me again—slightly incredulously, I might add—and then shrugged. "Dunno."
At which point I really did give up.
And look, I'm not saying it was a particularly genius conversation starter on my part, but at least I was trying to fill the silence. John has never once tried to initiate conversation with me, unless it's, like, to ask me what time a customer is coming in.
When he does talk—which is rare—all he talks about is cars. Even when he and Dave and I happen to be in the break room at the same time, all he talks about is the cars they're working on, or this race car he and his friend are fixing up to take to the local track. And he never even tries to include me in the conversation, like he just assumes I couldn't possibly be interested.
Which...okay, I guess I'm not. But it's still rude, and feels sort of sexist.
He's also a jerk to customers, which is why I wish I didn't have to ask him about this fit in.
"What kind of noise?" he asks, unhelpfully, when I tell him about Ethel's car.
"She didn't say," I answer politely. I'm always polite to John.
When you only have two coworkers, you can't afford to be snarky to one of them. I don't think John has any idea I don't like him (or that he'd care if he did).
He sighs. "She out front?"
"Mm-hmm." Where else would she be?
I follow him back out to reception, where Ethel is sitting in one of the plastic waiting room chairs.
"This is John," I tell her, since John never introduces himself to people. "He might be able to squeeze you in, but he was wondering—"
"What kind of noise is it?" John interrupts. "Do you hear it all the time?"
"Oh, well, I don't know," Ethel says, looking flustered. "It started last week."
John frowns. "So do you hear it all the time? And is it a grinding or rattling or what?"
I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. This is what I mean. It's not like he yells at customers or swears at them or anything, but he's so curt and impatient. Like he expects a seventy-five-year-old woman to walk in and say, "Why, good morning, young man. I'm afraid I've just heard a distinct ticking noise from the exhaust manifold, so I've popped in to see if the gasket needs to be replaced. I would do it myself, but silly me, I seem to have misplaced my torque wrench!"
Honestly.
