Cold Callers

A few days ago I decided it was time to read Dick Hebdige's Subculture: The Meaning of Style (1979) from cover to cover. Prior readings were based on whatever I was looking for in the Index -- usually that most misunderstood of postwar formations: "skinheads". I took the book from the shelf, collected my pot of tea and made my way to the porch. 

"Hello!"

"Hello!" I said looking up from my book. A young, uncomfortably well-dressed couple on the sidewalk.

"Whatcha reading?" asked the fellow in the almost-too-big blazer.

"I'm reading Subculture: The Meaning of Style by Dick Hebdige."

"Subcultures, as in gangs and such?"

"Some might not be happy with the characterization, but yes. And such."

The couple introduced themselves as realtors, with "family in the neighbourhood." Because it was a nice day, they decided to walk to her parents. Because I agreed with them about the weather, I decided not to ask if they always introduced themselves by their professions when on family outings. Nor was I tempted to ask who their family is. None of my business, right?

"You have such a nice house!" the woman said, turning the ankle of her high-heeled right foot inwards, a gesture I associate with deference.

"A lot of sadness in this house," I said forlornly.

"Oh, but a lot of happiness too, I'm sure!" the woman beamed.

"It might have been happy when the skinheads lived here, back in the eighties," I said. At which point the fellow glanced at the woman with a let's-get-out-of-here look.

"What was the name of that book again?" asked the woman, trailing after him.

"I Love Dick by Chris Kraus."