To blank or not to blank?

Ah, the mutual blank. Along with the uncomfortable half-hug, blanking is one of my favourite forms of social awkwardness. This non-greeting, which occurs when two people either pretend they haven’t seen one another, or simply don’t acknowledge the other’s presence, is an essential weapon in one’s interpersonal communication arsenal. You never know when you might need it.

Take the other morning. There I was standing at the end of a long queue at the Joburg Zoo, waiting to participate in the monthly Zoo Trot (which happens to be a most excellent way of kicking off a Sunday. Highly recommended). I was idly casting an eye over my fellow walkers and runners when somebody walked into my field of vision. I realised with a start that I knew him — and knew him well enough that the fact that we have exchanged no form of communication for a few weeks means that we are no longer on speaking terms. We may or may not have made eye contact, very briefly. My heart lurched; I quickly shoved my sunglasses back on and looked away, hoping that it wasn’t too obvious.

I stood there examining my phone while he and his friends laughed and chatted in the next queue. It was quite awkward — so awkward that I tweeted about how awkward it was. The queues that morning were slower than evolution — which I suppose was appropriate, given the setting — so we were forced to continue blanking one another for almost twenty minutes. This is hard going, because the mutual blank is supposed to be a fleeting thing, a meeting of the eyes before continuing on your separate ways, and separate conversations where you’ll tell someone who knows you both “you’ll never guess who I saw today … ”

It was a good thing that several people retweeted my observation about the awkwardness in the queue — including heat magazine nogal — so at least I had distractions.

Now, there are two distinct types of blank. The first is like the one described above, where there is an unexpected encounter in public. Typically, your eyes meet, but since you’re both so shocked and appalled by the sight of the other, you say nothing. These types of blanks are relatively rare, since it’s not every day that you run into a mortal enemy on the escalators at Sandton City. (This has actually happened to me, on the escalators between the banking level and Crabtree & Evelyn.)

The other type of blank is the everyday one, typically used in office corridors for passing colleagues you either don’t like or have zero interest in, or both. There you don’t pretend you haven’t seen one another, you simply don’t bother to greet one another. At most you’ll offer the other individual a tight non-smile. This is especially common in office loos, where you’re forced into uncomfortably close physical proximity to people you can’t stand. The subtext of this type of blank can range from ja whatever to fuck you. At any given moment, countless millions of mutual blanks are taking place in offices across the globe.

Then there is virtual blanking, which may or may not warrant a category of its own. Virtual blanking occurs when two individuals have lots of Facebook friends in common but choose not to make a friend request despite Facebook’s repeated suggestions that you do so. Sometimes the two of you will make comments on the same status updates of mutual friends, but avoid acknowledging one another in any way, shape or form. Blanking could also be said to occur when you are aware of the presence of a person on Twitter, but elect not to follow them.

In some cases there may be the possibility of a rapprochement, should one person decide not to participate in the mutual blank. My rule of thumb is that it is the aggrieved party — if there is indeed someone who feels more aggrieved than the other — who must make the overture. My ex-boyfriend blanked me in Movida and since he was the one who dumped me, I was the one who went over and made awkward small talk with him. We briefly discussed the urinary habits of his cat and I went on my way. I was glad I did it, because pretending someone isn’t there is hard work.

So by the time I started my 5km walk around the zoo in my Skechers Shape-ups, I felt quite drained. I kept my eyes peeled throughout the walk for my blanker to make sure that there was no possibility of an encounter. Happily, we both successfully pretended the other did not exist, and no doubt we will continue doing so as long as we both shall live. That’s unless something remarkable happens: occasionally, mutual blanking can be replaced by mutual communication. After the zoo trot, for instance, I introduced an ex-friend who recently became a friend again to the wonders of Arts on Main. Until recently, we had not been on speaking terms — a situation that lasted for more than five years — so going along to watch hipsters in their natural habitat represented progress of a truly monumental sort.

The non-cynical side of me now wishes to declare that we’d be better off if the mutual blank was replaced by the mutual smile. But the cynical side avers that blanking is a necessary part of our social survival kit, and my cynical side always wins out.