[01.18] - T.M.I.

You know how it is. You’re standing up talking to someone. Maybe an acquaintance. Possibly a complete stranger in the movie seat or church pew beside you, or someone at the gas station line-up. Then suddenly you’re no longer discussing the price of apples and the soaring cost of filling up your jeep. Suddenly someone’s telling you what position they hit last night, giving their Viagra testimonial, or describing the rash on their rear.

Information. It’s great. I know I’m not the only one who’s spent hours Googling everything from the Duck Billed Platypus to pesto recipes, just because I wanted to know, and could. But as much as I love accessing knowledge, there’s certain things I—and you—don’t need to hear about.

Worse yet is the experience of finding one’s mouth open and a dreaded case of the TMI—Too Much Information—pouring out. I’m guilty of it, too. I find a new acquaintance, get lil comfy and bam, I’m sharing sorry tales of heartbreak, treasured family stories—not quite my bank account balance, but, it seems sometimes, everything but. It’s not always incredibly embarrassing or inherently inappropriate information either, but simply a bit too personal for the time, place, and listener.

It’s not so bad when you share a touch too much info with a loved one. If you’ve ever found yourself on the brink of mentioning some personal relationship detail or letting the confession of a lie slip out to a sibling or parent, you’ll know it’s momentarily embarrassing but, ultimately, scant humiliation in comparison to the fact that they’ve seen your bibby-encrusted morning eyes, and perhaps, at some time, wiped your bottom.

But blabbing details to near-strangers who aren’t already so grossly close? Sure, it can be nice to talk and have someone listen (even if they look hugely awkward throughout the conversation). Later, though, the feel turns sour, rather resembling the morning after a one-night-stand with someone you don’t actually like; awkward, sticky, regretful.

Similar is the feeling you get when others share information you don’t want. What can you really say when someone you don’t know too well starts telling you about the last time they had a stomach bug, their latest plastic surgery, or how much their weave is itching? A smile, a nod, perhaps. A question about the weather.

On the other hand, information dispensers have their function. Hearing someone speak loudly about their problems is a great way to feel better about mine.
The girl who sat behind me on the bus and spent fifteen minutes describing her latest ailment (not an STD, but something you get from “having lots and lots of sex,” she told her friend, and everyone else within a half-mile radius) and all its related itches, secretions and scabs sure made me feel happy all I had was a mild headache and an empty social calendar.

TMI-ers are also fantastic for allowing one to put on a judge’s wig and feel a wee bit superior. If you’re lucky enough to sit near a girl like the one referenced above, you can feel both physically and morally superior (I know I sure did). Even in less scandalous situations, you can at least feel happy that your mouth isn’t so damn big.

And people who share widely, wildly, and wantonly create a certain sense of community. I know I’ve encountered many a cranky, stout matron complaining how people just don’t talk any more. TMI-ers are, in their special way, only doing their part to unite alienated Bahamians by launching community conversations—even if the topic does happen to be their displaced thong.


—ja**ly