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IC : Weblogs : DillyTante : "Now Is The Time To Say Goodbye. Goodbye!"
Now Is The Time To Say Goodbye. Goodbye! (6)
DillyTante's profile
Posted by DillyTante on Sun 25 Mar 07, 1:14 PM
Is there an ideal moment to deliver a parting comment before walking away or hanging up the telephone? How do you say what needs to be said, ('Goodbye.'), leave it at that and then end transmission?
I've a relative who will spend anything up to thirty minutes trying to part company from anyone under any circumstances. He'll stand at an open door, unable to stop talking for long enough, to take that final step over the threshold and be gone. Sometimes I want to shoot him. Or at least tell him to sit down until he's absolutely convinced that he's most definitely departing. And would he please shut that bloody door. There's a draft!
Conversely, I've a friend who unconsciously does her best to delay my own departure. In incremental inches (or centimetres if I'm feeling especially slow or metrically minded), I edge towards the outside world, repeating my intention to leave several times. This can be a slow and ceremonial process .
I don't understand why parting is considered to be such sweet sorrow. Personally, I find it a long and uncomfortably drawn out process. Eventually becoming a bit clumsy and flustered. And not sweet at all.
I shouldn't criticise. I have a bit of a problem myself in this regard. I must be clear here, this is not the condition sometimes referred to as 'Lastworditis' (an unpleasant affliction from which I'm very nearly recovered), although it might be connected. No. This is something which handicaps me, when temporarily disengaging from those whose company I enjoy. It's especially difficult on the telephone. I know that at the end of a conversation, I need to say cheerio and just... well... stick with it. Instead, I'll say goodbye – but then I just have to add just one more bit. In turn, the other person is then compelled to do similarly and there you are, another ten minutes have passed and conversation is still ongoing. Thank goodness for tolerant friends, I think. I have actually tried to say goodbye and then just get on with an efficient departure. And seen a look of surprised affront on the other person's face. An expression with which I empathise, because when people say goodbye to me and depart promptly, I can spend some time afterwards, wondering if perhaps I've offended them.
It's so difficult!
I've problems saying goodbye in other areas too. Birmingham for example. No, I'm just kidding. I can always say goodbye to Birmingham. Quite briskly actually. What I mean to say, is that I struggle to extricate myself from those with whom I didn't plan to engage in the first place. Most of my neighbours fall into this category incidentally, despite being perfectly pleasant individuals.
One of them in particular, Mr. Rugby, has snared me twice, the first occasion being so surprisingly unpleasant, it's acid-etched in my memory. One extremely hot Saturday afternoon a couple of summers ago, I was caught just as I was about to insert the key in the lock of my front door. Mr. Rugby said a casual hello, I responded agreeably. And before I knew it he had unleashed a twenty minute lecture upon me. The subject was, 'Welsh Rugby Something Or Other (from 1976)'.
I know! I know! It was entirely unprovoked too!
Aghast, I tried to forestall him at the beginning of his speech because let's face it, you always know when one of these monologues is coming, don't you? Similarly to that split second before you're caught in torrential rain, inappropriately dressed and without an umbrella. A few abnormally large raindrops splosh heavily and although you really don't like the look of the sky you experience a fleeting hope that you might be wrong. And then immediately afterwards, that moment arrives. That moment of doomed certainty. You know. You know that there is no escape. And no alternative other than to grimly endure the deluge. Anyway, with the aforementioned fleeting hope, I explained with an ingratiating smile that I've no interest whatsoever in sport. This information was of no significance apparently and ignored accordingly Or perhaps it was interpreted as a plea for further information and education. Either way, Mr. Rugby was not for turning and so in the suffocating heat of a relentless June sun, explained to me all about 'Welsh Rugby Something Or Other (from c1976 to the present day)'.
I only escaped when I did, because eventually The Man Upstairs With No Teeth happened to pass by en route to his own accommodation. Cunningly I lured him into the conversation. I then remained very still for a moment or two until certain that I was forgotten, I could slip into my flat unnoticed. I left the pair of them chatting happily away about That Sort of Thing for another half an hour.
Since then I've remained on wary alert for Mr. Rugby. He's a paramedic, works odd hours and so can spring up and at me at any time. I've a slick defensive strategy now. If I turn the corner from the main road and see him in the car park at the other end of my building, I can produce my key in a flash, wave a civil neighbourly greeting, smile and vanish inside to safety. All in one practised and graceful movement.
Alas, for every strategy, a counter-strategy will be developed. Mr. Rugby can now teleport. Thus it was that Mr. Rugby caught me again a few weeks ago. One moment he was grovelling under a vehicle ten metres away. And then suddenly he was standing in front of me, barely able to contain his thoughts on the subject of caravans.
How did he do that? I mean the teleporting thing of course. Not the thoughts on caravans. Although I could make some sour observations about Caravan Afficionados too, but I don't want to court controversy. Not today anyway.
Even the US Military who have spent significant sums of money researching the paranormal can't teleport. Well. Not yet anyway. Apparently, they've stalled on the walking through walls thing. Although I understand that a Staring At Goats project produced some interesting although as yet unproven results. Downsized, the experiment continues in a retired military bod's home. With hamsters. I kid you not.
(It's true! It's true! I learned all about it in a three part documentary entitled 'Crazy Rulers of the World', so it must be true!)
As I've already explained, Mr. Rugby's subject of that particular day was caravans. More specifically, their newfangled electronic towing device things, which are just bloody brilliant it seems! I lost another fifteen minutes of my life to that enthusiasm. It's impossible to interrupt that man. He honestly doesn't seem to understand (or perhaps care) that I don't share his passions.
Adding insult to irony, the tiny but formidable Mrs. Rugby thinks that Mr. Rugby is irresistibly gorgeous. Of course, this is entirely as it should be. Less amusingly, from her uneasy and edgy fluttering, it would also appear that Mrs. Rugby thinks that every other woman perceives Mr. Rugby similarly. Which isn't so great. At least not for me, anyway.
When Mrs. Rugby is at home, Mr. Rugby doesn't get chance to talk to anyone much. Especially this Dangerously Divorced Middle-aged Female Predator. I know this, because Mr. Rugby has made several valiant but (to my relief) abortive attempts. Oh yes.
No sooner does he greet me preparatory to sharing his latest interest, but the ever-vigilant Mrs. Rugby (also adept at teleportation) will appear in an instant. Inserted firmly between us, she'll twitter politely and possessively, before ushering Mr. Rugby gently in the direction of his manly chores – and safety!.
Were it not for the periodic protection afforded as a consequence of her insecurity, I'd quite like to reassure Mrs. Rugby. I wish I could explain to her just how lustless and indeed listless I feel, when in the company of her husband. Yet short of collapsing in a Pavlovian and narcoleptic fit the instant Mr. Rugby appears on my horizon, what can I do?
Of course, I could be brutally and offensively truthful with either or both of them. I doubt that would pay dividends though. It rarely does, does it? I have the right to remain tactfully silent. And I exercise that right, rather more frequently than people might think. Not that in this particular instance I've much choice, so it might be argued that I'm making a virtue of necessity. I do believe however, that there are more tedious things I could be forced to endure.
After all, I could be living as a US Military owned goat. And trained soldiers could be trying to murder me with no more than a hard stare and the power of their minds.
Anyway. I really should be going now. And as sung by dear, dead Dudley:
Goodbye, I wish you all goodbye.
Far-tat-tat-ta, far-tat-tat-ta.
Goodbye.
You see? It's not difficult is it? You just say it and then bugger off. Leave it at that. End transmission.
~Fin~
Most definitely.
Well. For the moment anyway. Edited Sun 25 Mar 07, 2:54 PM by DillyTante
Replies
25 Mar 07, 1:19 PM
ghost666
3 yrs
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i can never say goodbye, i cant hang phones up, i cant close doorsto someone i love
uncomfortable to do with those im friends with
easy to those i have no feelings with  "you still have.....all of me"
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25 Mar 07, 3:18 PM
Lingus
UK, 5 yrs
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So what are you trying to say? Not 'a'lot 'a' people know that
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25 Mar 07, 3:51 PM
MarcusStrapp
UK(CB), 4 yrs
Y!
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Sometimes life can be like a Japanese fingertrap Sometimes we need to stop the pushing the string and try pulling it.
Why not wait until Mr & Mrs Rugby teleport in and show them how pleased you are to see them, or more precisely why not show Mrs Rugby how pleased you are to see Mr Rugby.
"My that is a fetching cardigan and that flat cap makes me go weak at the knees. Will I see you again this evening when I walk the dog?"
Mrs Rugby will probably do a fine job of making sure Mr Rugby bothers you no more.
goodbye
xxx Conventional wisdom is often more about convention than wisdom.
-- Marcus Strapp
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25 Mar 07, 7:29 PM
DillyTante
UK, 3 yrs
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Why has no one commented on the Staring at Goats thing? Are we so accustomed to perceiving USAians as potty, that it didn't seem remarkable? 
ghost666 wrote:
i can never say goodbye, [...]
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Ah. I can say it sometimes ghost. I just can't leave it at that!
Thank you!
Lingus wrote:
So what are you trying to say?
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Um. I'm not too sure Lingus. I'm easily confused.
MStrapp wrote:
[...]
Why not wait until Mr & Mrs Rugby teleport in and show them how pleased you are to see them, or more precisely why not show Mrs Rugby how pleased you are to see Mr Rugby.
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Heh! I don't think I'd want to be so unkind Besides, passive (albeit grumpy) endurance is a strategy which works well for me
Very cute
flirty_fem wrote:
Mind my ex's granny is the other way round, cant wait to get off the phone,
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Heh. I've an elderly Aunt, just the same.
Dilly
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25 Mar 07, 7:52 PM
bohemian
4 yrs |
Remind me to make a point of introducing you to my dad when you come to stay Ms Tante.....just never EVER mention the RAF..... x All along the ancient wastes the thin reflections spin, that gather up the time and tide at once we loved within...
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25 Mar 07, 8:30 PM
DillyTante
UK, 3 yrs
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bohemian wrote:
Remind me to make a point of introducing you to my dad |
Don't you threaten me bo! I've a Dad of my own and I'm not afraid to use him
Dilly
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