Hello is more than a five letter word

Hello is more than a Swiss airline, the name of three songs, three films, a British celebrity magazine, and a bidding convention in bridge. It is, in fact, an American greeting. It is the most popular salutation. In fact, it is more common than hi, how are you, what’s up, or even yo. If it is so normal then, why could this simple five letter word pose such a problem for an awkward girl like me?

Now is the point where I disclose another personal fable with you but you have to only laugh at my carefully chosen prose and not at my stupidity or pathetic challenges. Being on my high school newspaper staff but hating anything that has to do with hard news, I was always on the lookout to do some sort of human interest piece- not for the benefit of interesting the student body as no one even knew The Streak existed, but for my own sanity.

Well one day as I may or may not have been reading the Readers Digest in the upstairs bathroom of my grandparent’s house, I came across an article titled “The Hello Project.” It was a social experiment about a man who stood outside of a supermarket greeting or complimenting every person who exited the store. He claimed that while most folks were flattered and friendly a few busy middle-age folk ignored him but the general public caught his contagious smile and were warmed by his politeness. Where am I going with this? Well as I procrastinated and had nothing better to write about I put the idea past my teacher and assigned myself the task of saying hello to every single person I saw for one whole day expecting to get similar results as Mr. Happy-hello. I figured at the very least this would be a good practice for me socially and couldn’t hurt.

The morning of the experiment instead of giving myself the usual talk in the mirror I practiced a bunch of greetings to my reflection: hello, hi, hey, hiya..with different inflections and facial expressions. I was ready! Greeting everyone at the bus stop was uncomfortable but not unnatural as I had been going to school with those losers for over nine years and we all knew each other. Saying hello to the bus-driver? Normal, she returned the salutation with a smile. I was marked with mixed reviews from all the students I passed on my way to my seat in the eighth row but nothing I couldn’t handle. Even though the day was going as expected, I remember being nervous before walking through the doors to school. I caught a breath of courage and pushed through the doors becoming a robot of welcoming. I even made it to homeroom with a single, large, community greeting. I smiled at my homeroom (also newspaper supervisor) and said an authoritative hello and said how successful the morning had been to give me confidence to start the rest of my day.

I spoke too soon. The most mortifying moment of my life was just seconds from taking place. As soon as the bell rang I bolted from my seat to run to my locker before the hallways flooded with people I needed to talk to.   I thought that I had caught quite the lucky break when my hallway was deserted. No such luck. As I slammed the door on my locker who but turns the corner but my crush (if you could even call him that). My best friend had introduced me to him the week before in the trainer’s room but I wasn’t sure if he knew who I was. I mean I didn’t do anything memorable except drop a whole stack of paper cups in the whirlpool and slip on some ice chips. What would he think if a stranger says hello to him? What would he think if I said hello to him? Do I have to say hello to him? But even with all these thoughts flying around my head a hundred miles an hour, I decided that my journalistic integrity was more important and went for it. It was just one word right?

I should not have gone for it. As a brisk walk, I glanced up for only a second while simultaneously quarter waving my hand hello, which looked more like a large penguin flapping a very broken wing, as the word “heh” escaped from my should-have-been-sewn-shut mouth. Not a five letter word but a three letter noise reminiscent of a horse having a stroke. I immediately looked down and sped-walked to class. Now twelve shades of red, I had no idea of knowing what he made of the whole chance meeting as he just witnessed a weirdo spazzing out in the middle of a vacant hallway. The “heh, side-wave” became my signature move, like Jennifer Anniston will always be known for her Rachel hair cut, Helena Bonham Carter with her two different shoes, and Elvis Presley’s hip shakes. The amount of times I have intentionally and accidently reenacted that little move is innumerable.

And that now infamous and commonly reenacted encounter set the tone for the rest of the day. It was quite literally the awkward girl’s worst nightmare. If it were a dream I would have woken up with two new pimples, my period, and the realization that I forgot to do a term paper. That experiment did not help me feel more comfortable in society; instead it made me look to it as an uncontrollable beast, non-welcoming, and non-responsive. I was ignored by just about anyone I didn’t know and some of the looks I was getting in return were unpleasant to say the least. Of course the few adults I met throughout the day were always first to smile and say hello back but the adolescent world was much crueler than that. The athletes after school took to me much fonder, whether by kindness or a moral/social obligation, they generally acknowledged me.

On the field of a very Catholic high school however, this athletic code was not upheld. As a first baseman, I stand near the other team’s base coach. On even a normal day I would say hello and engage in polite conversation but that day of all days the assistant coach was a capital B. later in the game, one of their players hit a single and found herself occupying my base as if she were Mr. Monopoly’s hat stuck in jail without rolling doubles as the at-bats at the plate were taking record long times. I said hello, and told her she had a great hit and in return she gave me a medusa-like glare and turned to her coach with some sarcastic remark. She was one of the cruelest characters I had ever come across, and that is a lot coming from an avid television drama show watcher. I stood there as this nightmare of a coach and player continued to make fun of me while I was in earshot a mere six feet away. Just because I am awkward does not mean I can be bullied. No one can make fun of me, only I can make fun of me (and do on an everyday basis.) So I shot them my best you-don’t-want-to-mess-with-me look and they quit it.

My faith was lost in this Hello Project until I stepped into the batter’s box for the first time. After greeting both the catcher and the umpire I was returned with a tip of his mask by an adorable old Irishman and the phrase “top of the morn’in to ya.” The moment was so priceless I forgot to swing at the perfect meatball down the center of the plate that the pitcher had thrown my way.

And with that last comment and a long line of post game “heys” instead of the traditional “good game” my long day of social suicide, I mean experiment, was over. Luckily, the published paper happened to find its way into the hands of some of the many people I bombarded with greetings that day and my reputation of being that quite girl who trips over her own feet as she walks through the halls was restored. That and the forever “heh side-wave” will haunt me, but that, I, and only my closest billion friends, can laugh at.