Social Allergies

Despite not being a Kingstonian, in many ways I'm not a 'countryman'. My parents didn't particularly raise me like one. I didn't have to wake up and feed cows? There's no forest behind my backyard. I can't recite Lois Bennett poems and most Jamaican proverbs are as new to me as they would be to any tourist. Perhaps the fact that I have a Kingstonian mother and a non-Jamaican father has something to do with it. However, both my parents had very humble beginnings.

I, on the other hand grew up rich and fortunate... OK, maybe not, but I never grew up with any sense of suffering hanging over my head. Additionally, my parents somehow taught me all the necessary lessons about decent behaviour- how to greet people, how to speak to elders, how to behave in public. I was a pretty good child in my estimation.

Sometimes I feel like an anomaly in a disorderly world. And the reason I spoke of my country upbringing is that it seems that disorder is rife amongst less fortunate folk, including (but not restricted to) ordinary, struggling country folk. It's funny, because very often we hear of 'the good ol' days', when parents would teach their children good manners, where children would be thoroughly scolded for being unruly to their elders, where discipline prevailed despite, social status. Maybe it is all just the exaggeration of an older generation longing for the tranquility and order of yesteryear. Whatever the case, I think I'd have managed better in their time.

I can't count the number times I've been made to feel 'snobbish' because I know how to speak well. I've gone into stores speaking politely to the cashier and she'd look at me as if I was a foreigner. I don't know the root of the problem, but it's more than poverty in my estimation. I suppose it's poor and chronic socialization skills. I hate that so many times I feel like I have to bully a cashier to get service. I'll be standing second in line, waiting to be served, and I'll be ignored because the guy fifth line will rudely blurt out, "Gimme a cooking oil nuh" as he prematurely hands over his money. The sad part is, nine times out of ten, the cashier will take the money and ignore the 3 people in front of him.

There are these shops in some communities ('corner shops') where there are multiple service windows, and the best way to get served is to shout your way into getting some attention. I went into one of them during my last trip to the country. There I was, amongst people I've likely lived very close to for years, yet I felt so out of place. I stood there quietly hoping for someone behind the counter to notice me so that I wouldn't have to shout for attention. Needless to say, I was forced to wait a while. I'm simply allergic to disorder.

I guess I just don't fit in.