30 Days to a Better Man, Day 17: talk to three strangers

Why?

Why do it?

Why talk to that schmuck a few feet down the bar?

Six very good reasons. You expand your network. You meet new friends...and potential mates. You increase your social skills. You learn new things. And most importantly, you boost your confidence. If it's one thing all the manly men I know have, it's confidence. Confidence is one of my core values, but even if it wasn't, any one of those aforementioned things would be a fine reason to reach out to someone you don't know. As long as you're honest, genuine, and act interested, you can gain a wealth of information (and perhaps a good friend in the bargain). 

So I done it. I spoke to three strangers tonight during a date with Heather in Itaewon — the same date, actually, that I planned on Day 9.

The first person was the owner and proprietor of one of the foreign food markets. He and I had a short discussion about two things: Cheesy Ragù sauce and unflavored Ruffles. I asked if he had them in stock, and he explained that the Ragù is difficult to come by in Korea, that the Ruffles usually come in once every two weeks, and it's up in the air what flavors he'll get. At least, I think that's what he was implying. He's from Pakistan and he's a very busy man, so he speaks quickly and is sometimes difficult to understand. After bestowing these bits of comestible information upon me, he wandered away to hector a couple of his employees who weren't facing the stock assiduously enough.

The other two were a pair of foreigners on the Line 6 train heading east to Bonghwasan. I had spotted them earlier, smoking and standing outside the Paraguayan restaurant where Miss H and I had dinner. On the subway I overheard them speaking in accented English about the express line heading to Incheon Airport, so I up and asked them where they were catching it. Hongdae? Digital Complex?

Digital Complex, it turned out.

One of the men was a long-haired West African with dreadlocks and the other was a dark-complected and rather handsome southern Asian. He could have been Indian, Pakistani, or Bangladeshi for all I knew. They were indeed taking a flight out the next morning. The Asian fellow got off at Yaksu Station only a few seconds into the conversation, but Miss H and I engaged the African man for a few moments longer, until our inevitable departure at Cheonggu. He looked to be about our age. We never got his name. He was flying home to Sierra Leone to see his family, he said. It would be a 30-hour flight. He hadn't seen his family in three years, and was very much looking forward to being home and surrounded by familiar faces. I couldn't say I blamed him. I've been feeling the need — no, the compulsion — for something similar for a long while now. We wished him well on his journey, then leaped off the train and switched to Line 5 for the last leg home to Gwangnaru. If we'd stayed on the train a little longer — which I kinda wish we had — we'd probably have learned his name, and maybe even become friends with him.

Oh well. Ships that pass in the night, as they say. Let's not forget the salient fact, here.

I talked to a West African today.

Who have you talked to lately?