Where Has Our Sense of Community Gone?
Acknowledge the people next to you
Sitting at a cafe outside on a cool Saturday morning, I set my iced coffee down on the white metal patio table. The chatter of others floated through the air and buzzed around my ears.
Two young women sat at a table close by, leisurely chatting to my left. When I say close, I mean close. I felt as if I was dining with them.
As I tried to get situated, my dog had other plans.
I had just come from the dog wash, and my dog was extra wound up. I say dog wash because it’s one of those places where you wash them yourself. The place provides the tub and shampoo, but you do the work.
Still air-drying his wiry fur and wet paws, he’d gotten a case of the zoomies. He is typically somewhat ADD but today was a special case.
He became obsessed with something under my table. I kept pulling him away, but this whole scenario was looking bad for me. I could feel it. Rambunctious dog, flimsy little table, a full cup of delicious coffee waiting to be slurped.
In a flash, my dog dove under the table and squeezed his butt between the skinny legs.
The table went flying, and my coffee hit the ground, the lid flew off. I watched it spill onto the concrete. I looked up at the girls next to me to give them a nod.
Sorry for the ruckus — I got this.
But nothing.
They did not see if I needed any help with a table turned over and a spilled beverage; they ignored me completely. Like I didn’t even exist.
They acted as if I was on a television show, and they had put it on mute.
It was so weird that I glanced at the next table, made eye contact with them, and gave them a nod.
After I cleaned it all up and got the table back up by myself with one hand, I ordered a new coffee. The baristas were kind not to charge me even though I offered. I kept thinking how weird it was to ignore someone entirely.
Is this just me, or is this odd?
If I had been on the other side of this, I would’ve definitely asked the person if they were okay, and I would’ve offered help. I know that it’s not just because I worked in customer service for twenty years. You’re supposed to offer assistance.
Living in Southern California can feel like living on another planet. You get the overall feeling that people don’t really care about you. People don’t know their neighbors or follow through with plans. Everyone wants to be invited to every event, but no one actually does anything meaningful.
People are focused on themselves and what they can get rather than give. It’s all about the hookup. It’s about who you know. Your image is essential.
“You’re who, again?”
Do you know how many friends I’ve made living in Southern California in twenty years?
Two. Two friends.
That’s like two people I would call if I landed in jail or wound up in the hospital. I have tons of acquaintances but not too many friends.
That’s okay with me. Maybe I’m getting old and cranky, but I don’t have time for superficial crap. I don’t need to go out or be seen; all I want is a cup of coffee with someone who can admit their life is hard, just like mine. Someone who will follow through with plans and listen when I talk.
As a society, community is all we have.
It doesn’t matter how many friends you think you have; if you don’t know your neighbors and you won’t help someone who has just had their table flipped over by their dog and is alone, what are you even doing?
Help people.
Offer help.
It won’t take long. Then I promise you can get back to that cup of coffee or conversation you’re having.
It will eventually be you who needs the help, and you’ll appreciate the person there for you.
Kit Campoy is a freelance writer based in Southern California. She’s covered cryptocurrency, company profiles, and interview pieces for online publications. Connect with Kit on LinkedIn, DeSo, and Twitter. Give yourself a break, and join her weekly newsletter.
