Don't Take Me Seriously - Book - Page 177
Featured commentary
To bro or not to bro, that is the question
I
run with a younger crowd these
days. And by younger, I mean
guys in their late 30s and 40s.
Of course, they would probably
have it otherwise, but economics has
forced us all to be pals, and so I’m
treated like one of the gang — albeit
one they fear will fall and break a
hip.
Anyway, all this closeness
and brotherly love create some
awkward moments of generational
idiosyncrasies, and the most
awkward of all is when it’s time for a
goodbye “handshake.”
Now, the “hello” handshake is
nearly as bad, but the “goodbye”
handshake often has the added
emotional spin of a good time had
together, combined with partial
inebriation.
Consequently, we are all feelin’
the love and forgetful of ourselves.
And for these reasons, we often find
ourselves on handshake-approach
before a clear plan of action is in place.
up on any Web search for “the
Jim high
opposite of soul.”)
No, the handshake of choice
WALKER among
my “young” friends these
DON’T TAKE ME SERIOUSLY
Like a slow-motion nightmare, I
see the younger fellow lean forward
and swing his hand out wider than
the standard business handshake
requires, with the thumb up and palm
ready to bear-grip.
And my soggy brain screams, “Oh
God, here comes the bro-shake!”
You’d think the easiest course of
action would be to just go ahead and
bro him. I mean, I’ve done it once or
twice before without injuring anyone.
And this is not an elaborate, soulbrother handshake, complete with
knuckle-bumps and finger-swipes
and dance moves.
(I attempted one of those once,
which required years of physical and
emotional therapy to overcome —
not to mention my photo appearing
days is just the basic bro: Grab
thumbs firmly, pull in, bump chests
and give the briefest of hugs with the
free arm — and then break quickly
free and say something like, “Hey,
how ’bout those Dodgers.”
I don’t practice the bro, and it
isn’t a natural move for me. And
beyond that, as the handshakeapproach begins and the red browarning light begins to blink in the
corner of my eye, I suddenly feel like
Walter Brennan gimping up to milk
a gorilla.
All natural coordination
leaves my body and my mind
decides the best play is to go for a
combination business/bro handshake.
Unfortunately, there is no such thing.
It can’t be done.
The result is everything from
catching each other by the little
fingers to missing each other’s hands
completely to stumbling forward and
bumping faces.
And this is the fastest way to get
uninvited to the next party.
What’s worse is that, even if I
recover during the eternity of the
approach, should course correction
be implemented in time, the horrified
look in my eyes warns my shakepartner that he’s dealing with a
couple decades of “out of touch,” and
that there’s black ice ahead on the
road.
In that eternity, I see his eyes
widen in frightened recognition, and
I am acutely aware that coordinationparalysis is seizing his body at the
same time — because he’s now
afraid his exuberance will damage
me.
Now, because the business
handshake is the one that I do
practice quite a bit, my autopilot can
often take over when my mind leaves
the room.
And because my younger friend
has also practiced this business
shake, he can usually recover in time,
as well.
It’s kind of like me being a pitcher
and throwing a knuckler that floats
around erratically but ends up going
right down the pipe. My shake
partner, the batter, has a good enough
eye to hold back his swing until the
last moment, then put some good
wood on it.
But even as we connect with the
boring business shake, now cold
and limp from lack of purpose, I
can see the disappointment settle
into my friend’s eyes — the sad
recognition that some people are
just not cool.
And, some people are me.
Next week: How long should your
lips stay on Aunt Edna’s when she
greets you at Thanksgiving?
Comment at jwalker@the-signal.
com or Twitter at http://Twitter.com/
DontSeriously.
