Ellen did not consent to participate in the experiment.
I was having a late breakfast at a small diner. It was quiet. Most of the patrons were alone, and there was no conversation or music. I looked around the room and noticed an older woman, perhaps in her 50's, with short, straight grey hair, a round face and red-rimmed glasses sitting at a table across the room, reading a book and the paper. The other patrons were men. I decided that I would approach this woman.
I ate my breakfast and read my book while considering if this was something I was going to do. I wanted to have my breakfast finished and be on my way out, so that after the interaction, rejected or not, I'd be leaving the diner. To avoid potential awkwardness of getting rejected, or having a successful experiment, and then walking back to my table to sit there and eat and read alone.
(In hindsight, this probably wouldn't have been awkward. I think I could make such scenarios not feel awkward. But it's easy to get caught up in these kinds of thoughts and planning in the moment. Why would I feel awkward in such situations, anyway? Imagining the situation now, and feeling how my body responds to the hypothetical, it would be because I would be feeling some shame, I think. In my imagination I see myself not making eye contact after the interaction, rejected or not.)
I think about how to approach her and what I will say. I think about how I will answer the question I know she will ask in one form or another: "why are you doing this?" (If the interaction gets that far. She could just be like "no" and that's the end of it.)
I finish my meal and I'm stalling by reading, deciding if I am going to approach her or not. More people have entered the restaurant, and there's still no music or conversation, so increasingly it feels like there is an audience for what I am about to do. I can feel the imagined pressure of people overhearing our unusual interaction. It feels harder to initiate this encounter when I perceive that there is an audience.
The feeling in my stomach is one that I have when I know that I want to do something, and that I'm scared. I want to ask this woman to participate in the experiment. I want. Period. So I am going to do it. It doesn't matter that I am scared. I just pick up my things and calmly walk over to her table.
"Excuse me," I say, smiling. And I pause for a moment to allow her attention to switch from reading to this new, unexpected conversation. I breathe in this space so that the interaction isn't rushed, so that I take my time when speaking and am very present.
She looks up and I am already making eye contact with her. (I am very conscious about doing this when I approach people, in general, and especially when performing this experiment.)
"This may be a bit unusual." Pause again. "I am doing a life experiment in which, every day, I make eye contact with a stranger for 60 seconds." (I may or may not have mentioned that I'm doing this for 30 days. I cannot remember.) I detect, if not receptiveness in her face, at least not outright rejection. "Would you like to do this with me?"
She smiles and says "okay." I say "okay" and sit down at her table across from her, and put my book and to-go container on the floor.
I say something about having a timer. I'm not sure exactly what I say.
We begin to have a conversation. Almost immediately she asked me about why I am doing this. I say that it is an exercise in vulnerability. It's a rejection exercise. I tell her that, for starters, I am asking people who I think are likely to say "yes" to participating in the experiment, but also that I am not really sure what "a person who is likely to say 'yes'" looks like. As the experiment goes on, as I become more comfortable doing this, my intention is to ask more people who look more likely to say "no." Perhaps I will be surprised! Maybe way more people will say "yes" than I anticipate. Maybe you can't look at a person and know how they will respond. (Probably.) I assume that I will become more comfortable doing this. I am curious to know what I will be like having done this every day for 30 days.
We talk about how people tend not to maintain eye contact when speaking with each other. We often look away. She tells me that she doesn't think she'll be able to maintain eye contact with me during a conversation without looking away. I tell her that the idea of the experiment is that we won't be talking during the 60 seconds. We'll just be looking at each other.
She doesn't think she is going to be able to do that.
I ask her if it would make her uncomfortable, and she says that it would. She says that if she had more practice doing it when she was younger ("my age" or "like me" - can't remember) then she could do it.
I ask her if we changed the parameter from 60 seconds to 30 seconds if she would do it then.
"No," she says.
"I'm not gonna do that."
"Okay," I respond, satisfied and smiling, still making eye contact with her. "Thank you for the conversation and enjoy your day." (Or something similar.) She says "you're welcome" and I pick up my things and leave.
As I walk away from her table, out of the diner, and to my car, I have a smile on my face. I feel light and relaxed. I feel awake. The muscles in my back, which have been hurting, often, this week, are not tense and aching. They are relaxed. I feel fluid and flowing, free.
I was not rejected. She did not consent to participate in the experiment. Such different things. Nevertheless, I got the rush that comes with being vulnerable and asking of someone something that I want, a request that they may reject. I didn't get what I asked for, but I got my rush.
Before I left her table I asked her for her name.
"Ellen."
I introduce myself and we shake hands.
"Nice to meet you, Ellen."