Michael Landon. Remember him? I stumbled upon a documentary of Highway to Heaven and was struck by a particular slice of back-when. Someone asked an actress on the show if there were any stories of trouble on-set during filming. There was one anecdote. A couple of actors were causing trouble. Maybe they were showing up late, not knowing lines, being prima donna’s… I forget. But they were grating, very annoying. Apparently they caught on to the fact that they were pushing their luck and brazenly went up to Landon with the question: “Are you mad at us?” He responded, “No, why would I be mad at someone I’m never going to see again?” And apparently, they never worked there again.
It was a word choice though that struck me. When the interviewer asked the question about trouble on-set, that lady answered, “What? You mean like someone being a stinker?” You never hear someone called a “stinker” anymore. It seems the word retired decades ago. Well, it got me thinking.
Some behaviors are repugnant, but not for anything to do with the law or personal offense or immorality. They’re just obnoxious. They stink. And aversion to literal stench is healthy. Something similar is probably true with metaphorical stench as well.
To be sure, I don’t mean to defend snubbing either the truly destitute or a normally pleasant person just going through something. But I wonder if we’ve been arm-twisted into the idea that the only reason to avoid someone (or their behavior) is if there is some level of wrong-doing. What if they’re just obnoxious?
No one wants someone stinking up the conversation with pompous or nasty tones, innuendos of aspersion, gossip or other party fouls. We try to invite good guests, but even careful effort there is no guarantee. What else can we do? I suppose we can reward earnest wonder with engagement, rather than feed the trolls, and we can be our best selves and attract the like in kind. Again, no guarantees, just helps, but for me, that's plenty for me to get to work with. Failing that, there's the block button. At least for now.
Penjammin grew up in a labyrinthine cavern. Later he ran with the wolves and lived every moment marinated in the sweet scent of his game, until pirates landed and… (see “About”). Get his eletter at penjams.com/subscribe.