I lied to two people today.
Well, technically three. But the two main victims were told directly to their faces, which I imagine is supposed to make the crime more...repugnant.
The victims? A dentist and a hair dresser. Didn't know what hit 'em.
The aforementioned are the types of occupations in which rapport is awarded - or rather, considered part of the job. Despite hundreds of nameless mouths or heads of hair they shift and shape in a year, they are expected to maintain some sort of memory, in order to maintain the almost-ease of conversation with the annual patients whose intricacies, while inconsequential, allow them to feel more relaxed when remembered.(Though I don't imagine anyone ever feels relaxed enough for those horrid cleanings. Shudder.)
Yet, the same conversations remain in their repertoire. Targeted by age and gender, the questions are meant to elicit the small talk that creates the comfortable environment that is sought.
So, why make things uncomfortable?
When the mother hen-like dentist asks about the bandage or hospital bracelet, there is no point in mentioning the "c" word. Quite the conversation killer.
Or not so much killer, but monster-steroid enhancer. Adult sympathy, unlike it's adolescent counterpart, is experienced, hard-hitting, and often...hysterical. It asks the real questions. It has real-life comparison points and the worst: recommendations.
As much as I would love to foster intimacy with individuals who will as soon forget my teeth or hair specifications as they put away the file(or hair dryer), I feel it unnecessary. Excessive, if you will.
Why ruin their day with the knowledge that they're touching a (c word) patient?
The whole thing just seems silly to me.
So, if our encounter only merits a short or sporadic conversation, you will be told I had a minor operation. And that I'm going back to school in week. And that everything is swell.
Preset answers for preset questions.
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