A lesson from silence: another point of view

By PAMELA DAVIS

© St. Petersburg Times, published April 2, 2001

No talking for two days? No problem, I figured.

But I figured wrong.

It was hard to keep my mouth shut not just because of what I do for a living -- journalism requires you to talk to other people -- but because of the kind of person I am.

Ever since I was in grade school, I've been accused of talking too much. I still have old report cards with messages from my teachers about my little "problem."

I agreed not to talk for two days to get a taste of what 19-year-old Brett Banfe is doing (not doing, actually) in New Jersey. Banfe has pledged not to talk for one year. My goal was to see if I could do it for two days.

It wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. Just when I was getting the hang of keeping quiet, I would slip and say something.

The good side to this experiment was the ability to use other forms of communication. Instead of speaking, I interacted with people by writing on a pad of paper, body language and computer keyboard. Banfe has it a little easier. He uses a Motorola Talkabout T900, a wireless, two-way messaging device.

Motorola provided Banfe, his family and friends with the gadgets to use throughout his year of silence. The Times supplied me with a reporter's notebook and a Bic pen.

While at work, I was able to talk to my colleagues using the message system on our computers. I sent all my phone calls to voice mail and had access to e-mail.

To me, two days of silence meant no singing along to the songs on the radio. No screaming inside my car when someone cut me off. No chatting on the phone. No talking to my husband.

(My husband had a fabulous two days.)

My quiet stint took place on Sunday and Monday. On the first day, I discovered how often I talk to myself. And when I'm not talking to myself, I'm talking to my cat or the TV. I had been oblivious to all this one-way communication until I found myself on the verge of doing it then catching myself and remaining silent.

At Publix on Sunday morning, when my cashier, Raul, asked "Hey, how you doin'?" I could only mouth the word hi. When he rang up a bag of Lay's barbecue potato chips that belonged to the woman behind me, I protested by wildly waving my arms.

To answer my bagger's question, "Paper or plastic?" I pointed to the bag I wanted. I shook my head no when Raul asked me if I wanted cash back from my debit transaction and again when my bagger asked to help me take my groceries to my car.

I knew what to expect when I went to Bed, Bath & Beyond later in the day. The store asks for your ZIP code before ringing up your purchase. I had my notebook ready, but when I let the cashier know I couldn't talk, he started the transaction before I had any numbers written down.

I did have some slip-ups during the day. Some major -- such as when I gave up completely inside a JCPenney store and asked for directions to the dressing room -- and some minor, such as all the times "please," "thank you" and "excuse me" popped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

Overall, without a physical reason to prevent me from talking, it was too easy for words to leak out.

Things were a little easier on Monday, when I spent most of the day in the office. A few of my co-workers knew what I was doing. For those who didn't know, I wrote notes.

I had a brief conversation with an editor: He talked, I wrote in response. Mostly, I did a lot of nodding and smiling. I probably looked like someone who didn't understand English and was just going along with the flow.

During a brief car ride with a co-worker, I wrote notes to her while she was behind the wheel. She complained about having to read and drive at the same time.

I'd become a hazard.

I avoided the one co-worker whom I talk to the most, but he caught up with me near the end of the day, and we ended up having a conversation in which he peered over my shoulder and read my typed sentences.

On Monday, it got to the point where everyone pretty much ignored me because I couldn't respond to them without whipping out a notebook or typing. It puts a dent in the conversation's rhythm. I had to snap my fingers and lightly bang on the desk to get someone's attention.

On his Web page, Banfe wrote that he wanted his silence to inspire the world.

"I want to be the kid (who) inspired you to lose that 10 pounds you've always wanted to lose, and that kid (who) inspired you to quit smoking," he wrote.

Banfe is overstating his importance. The real outcome from being silent -- be it for a year or just two days -- is learning more about those around you. It's taking a look at things from another point of view.

Whatever happens, it's not about the one who stays silent. It's about those who don't.

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