An insincere smile (An original contemplation)

Source

I used to have a friend by the name of Antwan. He was born in Paris, but in an American family – his dad worked there. Naturally, he was fluent in both English and French and spent half of his time in the US and a half in France. Once, after a long period dwelling in San Diego, he was riding in Paris' metro and gave a friendly smile to a cute girl sitting across from him. In response she gave him nasty "are you an idiot or something" grimace, letting him know that he is not in the Old world.

Indeed, to an immigrant, it is not very clear how you can smile on the spot, without anything funny being said or done. Certainly, I've been explained that in the US smile is simply a social default.

Is American smile sincere or not? It all depends. Often it simply has no emotional backing. It's simply an external expression of a greeting. It's like when we say someone "Good morning" we often do this without actually wishing it to someone. So then why the smiling has to be different?

Regardless, it was hard to evoke this smile, until someone explained me its meaning. The meaning of an American smile "I am ok no matter what." It's sort of a defense against being pitied and viewed as a failure.

Can it be false? I would rather call it an "official." It's meaning "Please visit our store and we will bend over backward to make sure you buy something." I'd like to slow down on this official or if you wish "false" smile and share with you a little story that happened with me in 1998.

She stood behind the perfume counter in Broadway. She looked like a typical Barbie Doll, tall, slender, with almost no asymmetry in small and pretty features, with the perfect haircut and perfect makeup. When customers were passing by casting looks at this live mannequin, she smiled back. Her smile was as if part of the store inventory, as if a carnival mask, behind which she hid her face while speaking to a customer.

While waiting for my wife, I observed her, trying to see a glimpse of a genuine expression. It was a busy time and it was hard to catch her without her smile mask. Only once, I noticed a slight grimace of contempt and disgust towards a customer who tried many perfume samples and did not buy anything. Later she looked around making sure no one sees her, covered her face with her palm and yawned.

Soon after that my wife waved me to follow her home. The shopping was over. She bought all the necessary presents for the trip to Russia. I had to organize this trip to visit my father, who I did not see for the number of years and who never met my younger son.

I don't want to get into specifics of that trip because the majority of it had no bearing on this story. I only notice in parenthesis that my son got himself a severe food poisoning while eating a hotdog in the square near the Kremlin and was placed in the children's hospital on the outskirts of Moscow. Here Gabriel spent several days, causing us much anxiety. To make a long story short, he felt better and we were happy as can be to take him from the hospital. Since originally my son came by ambulance, he somehow did not have any underwear on him. So I had to go to a local supermarket to buy him a pair.

When I walked in and asked a saleslady to inform me where was the children's department, she answered: "Don't know."

"Excuse me do you work here?"

Her answer was "Yes."

"Do you know if there is a children's department in this store?"

"Go and look for yourself! Why are you asking me? What am I an answering service?!"

"Can I speak with the manager?"

"I am the manager" was the answer.

My first thought was to leave this store and go to another one. But I had no time to waste. Plus, remembering the Soviet times, I wasn't sure I'll get a better treatment elsewhere. So I went inside the store moving from a department to a department, checking things out on my own and not asking stupid questions anymore. After ten minutes of browsing, my curiosity was rewarded. I saw something that looked like children's clothes behind the glass counter.

"Do you sell children's clothes?" I asked.

"Yes, what are you blind?"

"May I look at it?"

"Stand in line, citizen."

"Which line," I asked completely confused.

"This one," said the saleslady pointing on the line with her index finger.

"But can't I just look at the item?"

"Everybody here wants to look at something. What are you special, or something?"

Not considering myself special, I stood in line to look at the boy's underwear. When my turn came I asked the saleslady

"I need to buy a pair of underwear for a six years old boy. Can you help me finding it?"

"What is the size?"

"I am not familiar with your sizing system," I shrugged. "Can you just show me something for a six- year-old boy"

"Citizen, don't hold the line. If you don't know what you're buying - step out."

"Wait for a second, lady! I know, I know what I am buying. Just show me that pair of underwear."

The saleslady brought me a complex contained the tank top and some underpants.

"No mam", I said, "I don't need the tank-top".

"Don't want it - don't buy it. They go together. Next."

"Okay, Okay, I am taking it. Here's the money!"

"You don't pay here citizen. Go and pay to the cashier and then come back with the receipt and get the item."

To make a long story short, I had to stand another line to the cashier and then another one to receive the damn underwear!

Boy, was I happy to be back in a country where people wear a civilized Barbie Dull smile on their faces. It might not always be sincere, but, boy, it sure beats a sincere rudeness.