I’m lucky, because some people notice when I take time off from writing this column. That is nice. Thank you.
Often when I stop by a convenience store or a small business, or ride a cab, I wonder about the people working “the floor,” where there is little hubbub. Do they have the drive to express an idea publicly, one that might be mulled over by others, and are they are missed when they take time away from their job?
I am intrigued by the “quiet people.” In a short story that I once wrote titled Goat’s Tails and Cow’s Feet, I called them “headless drivers.” By that I meant that there are people who drive by me on the street each day who live their own full lives, yet we’ll never truly intersect. I see them, but I’ll never know them. To me, they may as well be have no heads.
When I engage such people in conversation, the inevitable occurs. We enter into meaningful talk about things such as family, politics, food and religion. I like to test the waters and sometimes toss out a tidbit about Israel. I figure it’s my chance to be an emissary, and/or to get a pulse on what’s going on in the street in regard to us.
Many of these headless drivers are often not really so quiet. Despite the fact they don’t write a column or rage publicly about the ills of society, they have much to say, and they articulate it well.
Most recently, I launched into a discussion with a Christian woman living in northern British Columbia who counsels native Canadians. She’s not a trained therapist, but she’s been sharing her wisdom for 20 years and has garnered the trust of Aboriginals in that area – not an easy feat. She has no website, and she looked at me strangely when I asked her if she had ever been honoured for her work.
We are gala people, but not everyone else is.
I, like you no doubt, enjoy my taxi rides, not only because I get a chance to be mobile while closing my eyes to think distant thoughts, but because I can talk to a stranger about rare and intimate things with little or no risk. It’s part of his or her job, and I sense that these headless drivers are the last great conversationalists in the world.
While in Ottawa recently, an Iranian cabby told me that his first girlfriend was arriving in Toronto for a visit. She wanted to see him. She had never stopped loving him. I advised him against seeing her. He is a family man. I gave him my card and asked him to let me know what he decided. I was curious. He responded, “We’ll see. I might.” I told him I understood and we parted ways. He was a friend for a moment – as he would be to dozens of people that day – and that was the way it was supposed to be. He was clear about that.
I knew I would never see him again. That was fine, however, because I learned something from this quiet person. He shared with me the intricacies of his familial relationships and the senselessness in testing the genuine spirit of his marital love. He didn’t need my advice. The Iranian taxi driver knew a pile more about relationships than I do.
I’m lucky that I write this column, and there are those who notice when I’m not around. But the same can be said about the quiet Filipina woman behind the counter at my favorite coffee joint. I know when she is absent, and many others do as well.
It could be that the quiet people, the headless drivers, might just make their mark while serving another cup of coffee or travelling another quarter mile.