Class blinders

[muckefuck]

As usual after lunch today, I was craving something sweet. Usually that means coming back to the office and filching a chocolate from generous (not to mention enabling) colleague. But fate put Andy's Frozen Custard into my line of sight. I've been curious about it ever since it opened, but strong-willed enough to steer myself on to Red Mango for frozen yoghurt instead. Today, I weakened.

The counterman greeted me by name, which confused me so much I misheard it and was convinced he had confused me with someone else. But then he repeated it, meaning he was confusing me with someone who not only looked me but also had the same name? I tried desperately to place him but had no luck at all until he said, "From Jon's party?"

I can identify a number of factors behind this lapse. The first is that I've gotten a lot worse at pairing names and faces as I've gotten older. A second is that I've always been mediocre at remember people who don't turn my crank. I could tell you the name of the cute little daddy I met at the party without a moment's hesitation; with anyone else, I'd just be guessing.

But the most significant factor is class bias. At this stage in my life, I just don't expect to be socialising with people who work at food service counters. For good bourgeois lads like me (and which I assume everyone I meet to be as well), this is a chrysalis stage we pass through before getting a Real Job somewhere. I don't mean that I'm above making friends with servers, but I don't expect to know them through other channels. What this means is, the moment he said he knew me, I tried to remember where I had met him in a food service context. I didn't even think to check bar associations, much less invitation-only gatherings.

It's an understandable bias to have, if an unattractive and increasingly anachronistic one. After all, as the American middle class continues to lose ground, more and more of us will find that a college degree does not exempt us from having to wear a funny hat for longer than a summer or two.

Incidentally, in case you care about the custard, it was pretty unmemorable. Certainly not a patch on that fabulous place his_regard took me on Friday night, let alone the towering colossus of the South Side of St Louis, Ted "Concrete" Drewes.

Comments

[oh-meow.livejournal.com]

bourgeois capitalist lackey running dog! (I like calling people that, and it's not something you get to whip out in general society very often)

I'm guessing frozen custard is some kind of super-rich ice cream? The idea of a frozen edition of the Bird's stuff is pretty unpleasant.

[tekalynn.livejournal.com]

I experience a similar disjunct from people who recognize me either from a concert or from my retail job, but can't place me easily if we're in the other setting.

[joebehrsandiego.livejournal.com]

I have friends that are waiters/bartenders/baristas ... and I'm 48. :) Sometimes it's not their choice but sometimes it is, frankly. You might be surprised what kind of income is possible.

[paulintoronto.livejournal.com]

One of the things I have long loved about the twilight world of the homosexuals is the way class boundaries can disappear in the expense of spirit. I've met -- and enjoyed the friendship (and sometimes the bodies) of -- people on welfare, autoworkers, famous broadcasters, aristocrats, artists, hairdressers and shopboys. I've learned that some laureled academics are stupid, some waiters are caring and altruistic, some nurses have huge -- well, you get my point, I'm sure. I celebrate the bracing democracy of homosexual intercourse, in all the senses of that word.

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

I think that this was far more true in the past. The more acceptance grows, the more we tend to segregate according to the same lines as straights--class, race, education, etc. The days of the huge house parties which attracted everyone from sex workers to city fathers seem to be over, at least in this city. I have a few working-class gay friends, but I struggle to keep them because our interests and activities are so divergent.

[(Anonymous)]

I do wear a funny hat (A la Esther Williams) at my job, which pays less per hour than McDonalds. Yes, frequently I wonder why I bothered to go to college. I almost never recognize anyone outside where I met them. Gwyn