Having ordered my pot of tea I waited for the optimum moment to maximise my purchasing power. The pouring of the milk, followed by the inevitable smile was my cue, “And a pot of boiling water please!” Years of experience synthesised in a second to seduce the situation to my advantage – I could squeeze at least one more brew out of the single tea bag, two if I squashed the leaf load with the strength of Arnold Schwarzenegger. A 100% uplift was nothing to be sneezed at. A smug smile enveloped my face as I sought to achieve the next operational target – a primary observation platform where I could indulge in one of life’s luxuries. People watching is free too. And to a tightwad like me a seat proximate to the window would allow me to secretly stare at passers-by whilst simultaneously scanning the internal scene and establishing a clear visual containment. Sitting down I had eyes on a lady at twelve o’clock, two twenty-something guys at ten o’clock and a lone mature male at two o’clock. The wondrously wide window gave me an unparalleled peek into the public passageway too.
The slim lady, in her late forties to early fifties, smartly dressed, caressed a coffee. She was attractive, even though her dark skin could not conceal the crevasses across her forehead. Her short no-nonsense hair sealed the deal. She managed people in a small family firm that had for years struggled to succeed in a crowded business space. The years of effort were etched on her face, and she would forever display the uglier side of the capitalist con where her renumeration would never be enough to realise her dreams ─ enough to keep her head just below the economic waterline, even though she kidded herself that one day she would get that hitherto elusive break.
The laughing guys deep in excited conversation, wearing fabulous footwear, were obviously students, temporarily insulated from the insanity of the workplace at the nearby college of further education, being groomed by society to get a certificate in something and perhaps latterly a degree to work their collective bollocks off for a bunch of rich faceless shareholders. For the time being though they were both enjoying some frothy concoction produced by a supply chain of equally shafted sellers, making a small bunch of similarly wealthy people even richer. Enjoy lads!
The mature chap, overweight, wearing an ill-fitting reflective jacket, looked totally fucked! His boots were the final proof that this man worked outside in the elements, no doubt as labourer on the roads. He appeared to be in his late fifties, but in reality he was probably an entry level forty something. Outside the pavement parade offered up additional fodder to feed my adept deductive skills. For instance, the blonde lady with the large chattels, scurrying past whilst texting.
How could I be so cocksure? Yet did it matter, since this not so secretive presumptuous pastime is played by us all, even if we don’t care to confess to it. We are all people watchers. The science of people watching is fascinating even if it is fraught, yet the world-famous detective, Sherlock Holmes, would make us all believe that focused observation always yields certainty.
Our brains receive around eleven million pieces of information a second, although the conscious part can only process a tiny fraction of this data blitz. Without a safeguard we would all walk around in a daze, mouth wide open simply groaning and looking into space – pretty much how I operate first thing in the morning. We are prevented from imploding by simultaneously and effortlessly using our conscious and unconscious brains in tandem. The former crunches facts and observable information and is, by comparison to its counterpart, pretty slow, whilst the latter is habit and intuition driven with huge processing capacity and operates at lightning speed. This allows the Speedy Gonzales grey matter to instantly recognise patterns and assign people into categories. Within nanoseconds known and safe issues are filed away, leaving the slower conscious associate to focus on apparent danger, thereby allowing us to act immediately, as opposed to having to rethink everyday situations from scratch.
The assumptions we make are based on our core beliefs, built on our life experiences that shape our judgements of right and wrong, moral or immoral, fun or boring, etc. And therein lies the problem – our values are very often based on untruths and misconceptions, embedded within our psyche during our formative years as a young child. If that isn’t dangerous enough, our brain also applies, at the speed of light, “affinity bias” ─ a preference to respond positively to people who look, sound and act like us. If you fancy testing your own magnetism meter, check out Project Implicit, created by researchers at Harvard University, that seeks to explore hidden social cognition.
With significant scientific scepticism weighing heavily upon my Costa skills of close quarters surveillance, I asked myself were others any better? Was I perhaps connected to some super-sleuths who would simply employ the array of Sherlock Holmes deduction methods to illustrate my own incompetency? There was only one way to find out – a social experiment.
Contacting several Facebook chums I asked my sample group to share three photographs of me with other friends who didn’t know me, with a simple ask – to simply express an opinion on each picture, imagining that they were simply viewing me from a distance.
Once the results were in, I would calibrate the overall accuracy against the truth and announce a percentage score. The source photographs of me were taken during a three-month period, thereby maintaining a consistency of facial and bodily characteristics (and obvious charm). Clothing and environment were the only variables. With a dollop of trepidation, I clicked the send button …
I either worked in IT, was a boss of a building company, employed as airline cabin crew, or a management professional. Of the more curious contentions I was perceived as an importer of class A drugs – this probably explains why I always get stopped at airports for an additional search. 20% accurate, and that’s being kind.
I wasn’t a fitness fanatic but I wasn’t a slob. I played golf and owned a labradoodle. Not at all fashion conscious. 50% right.
Average age – 49 – 17% out – I’ll take that any day!
Married, but separated from a woman who obviously didn’t like ironing, with grown up kids or teenagers. 20% positivity rating.
Average age – 47 – 20% out (thank you folks!)
A not-so-subtle change in clothing and location encouraged a wider perception of careers from a taxi driver, civil servant, accountant, teacher, comedian, or lawyer to a manager in a supermarket. I’ll be kind – maybe 15% right.
I was at a football match – get away! Although one commentator suggested it was at amateur level. To be fair, if Notts County fall any further from grace perhaps this might be a prophecy. I was also working or middle class, due to my clothes and teeth! Fucking cheek! To counter this outrageous slight on my pearly whites I liked one particular assertion – “He has a nice aura about him, somebody you could trust.” But according to some I was unhappily married or single, and straight. Overall, 20% correct.
Mean age – 55 – much closer to the truth, but still an encouraging downgrading of 7%.
This image created significantly more data, most of it crap but nonetheless entertaining.
I was married with five daughters and sociable due to my neck and stomach – what the fuck? Although the portrait was in black and white one observer announced that my shirt was probably pink, thereby asserting that I was happy with my sexuality and probably lived in Billericay as I looked a bit “Essex-ish”! I’ll give a very generous 20% reliability rating for this lot.
As for a profession, I was either a publican, firefighter, lawyer, or safety officer. There was also some debate over my managerial status. Not that high up since my suit didn’t look that expensive, or a probable CEO due to the cufflinks. All of which scored a grand 0%.
Finally, I was a straight grumpy bloke, married with kids and drove a silly expensive car. At last, cooking on gas – an 80% success rate! For an often grouchy git this made me smile!
As I reflect on the sorry statistics, and have become even more conscious about my smile, I guess I had the last laugh, as who would ever guess that I write for several global magazines, containing the most beautiful women, when I look like a cue ball in a game of pool and dress like a tramp? Looks can be deceiving but convincing ourselves that we are good at picking up the clues only continues to reflect a truly fundamental human trait of inquisitiveness, even if it is overwhelmingly flawed. And I don’t mind admitting that I am one nosy fucker and will continue to be so!
Time for another cup of tea …
© Ian Kirke 2022 and uncredited photographs
Title photograph by Chase Clark on Unsplash