"How's It Going?"

The “How’s it going?” exchange is pretty meaningless. You know the drill. In passing, you spot someone you know fairly well, and, in a simplistic show of politeness, you acknowledge the other person’s presence with this benign inquiry. The acceptable reply, regardless of the mood you’re in at the time, is of course, “Good” or “Can’t complain.” In an effort to really sell their happiness, some people even say, “Couldn’t be better.” If we’re being watched by space aliens that strictly pay attention to our “How’s it going?” exchanges, they’ve got to think planet Earth is a near-utopia. Which is far from the actual truth, as I’m sure you’ve figured out by now.

I’m astounded by how often we fib when asked, “How’s it going?” The positive, honky-dory response is really just a time-saver. “We’ve both got places to go and an in-depth description of my actual state of mind would just hold us up. I mean it’s not like you’re my shrink for crying out loud. So let’s cut a few corners and go with the traditional response and then part ways so as not to interfere with our schedules.”

The question “How’s it going?” doesn’t give you much insight into the struggles and joys of another person, to put it mildly.

Have you ever dared to defy convention and bluntly answered something unexpected like, “Please kill me or at least hand over some Vicodin” or “What ever happened to Plan A?” It really throws a wrench in the machinery of everyday greetings. That kind of sullen retort will brand you with a pretentious label. “What do you mean, ‘Why do I bother leaving the house?’ You’re not supposed to grovel like that in passing. We have a time-honored system here, and you’re meddling with it, fancy-pants! You think my life is perfect? My teenage daughter won’t talk to me and my fantasy football team is ravaged with injuries!” To some people, the soldiering productive-types mostly, a gloomy answer to “How’s it going?” lofts your problems over theirs…and they hate that.

Let me tell you a story about a guy with a very distinct and plaintive retort to “How’s it going?” His name was Kyle, and he was a melodramatic and surly character who lived purely to rebuff pleasantries. Every time he was asked the question, he would say, without inflection, “I’ve got a terminal illness.” Which was a lie. Kyle attended college, and between classes, when asked, “How’s it going?” he’d say, “I’ve got a terminal illness.”

And a lot of times, the person headed in the other direction tuned out his answer. “Good to hear. Keep on truckin’, Whatsyername,” they would say, without breaking stride, bustling toward yet another appointment on yet another busy day.

Kyle’s “I’ve got a terminal illness” response persisted for quite some time. At joyous occasions such as weddings and baby showers, his matter-of-fact catchphrase never wavered. He never let you down in his role as a downer. It became a real nuisance to his friends, who often questioned why they hung around with Kyle in the first place. The last straw came at a twenty-year high school reunion. An old associate of the gang approached and made the mistake of casually asking Kyle a certain question. You can probably guess what that question was, as well as Kyle’s reply. At this point, his closest friend snapped.

“For God’s sake, you’ve been milking that line for twenty years now! If you’ve got a terminal illness, then why aren’t you dead yet?”

I used to think there are two kinds of people in this world: “More-miserables” and “Less-miserables.” In hindsight, that’s excessively bleak, but for the sake of this column, we’ll go with it. Obviously, Kyle is a “More-miserable.” On the other end of the spectrum, you have the “Less-miserables.” Rudy was such a character.

Whereas Kyle was a self-pitying curmudgeon who transmitted his unhappiness to anyone who would listen, Rudy would rather die than trouble others with his piddling problems. Regardless of his temperament, in times of elation, despair, and everything in between, when asked the question, “How’s it going?” Rudy would reply, chipper as a regret-free newlywed and without irony, “Every eye blink gives me a rush of joy!”

It wasn’t easy to maintain such an upbeat response to the question “How’s it going?” One day, in a bizarre board game mishap too complicated to fully explain in an article less than 20,000 words, Rudy accidentally swallowed a 23-sided Scattegories die. The die was naturally too large to squeeze down his throat, and as it protruded from just above his collar bone, his face turned a ghastly shade of purple. Things were looking bleak for Rudy, until his roommate—a Nursing major with a soft spot for weed brownies—returned home and casually asked Rudy, “How’s it going?” Unable to speak and barely conscious, Rudy scribbled onto a Scattegories answer sheet: “Every eye blink gives me a rush of joy! Now, if it isn’t too much trouble, I have a favor to ask: could you please be a dear and give me the Heimlich maneuver before my life is cut tragically short by a Scattegories die lodged in my throat. Please help me before I choke to death. XO, Rudy.”

Another time, during a tumultuous visit to the aquarium, an ill-tempered jellyfish leaped out of its tank and attached itself to Rudy’s head. After a mighty sigh, Rudy left the aquarium and made for the hospital. On his way there, he encountered a few casual acquaintances, and when they asked a certain question that rhymes with “Cow’s tit sewing,” he reasoned it impolite to pester them with his trifling problems.

“Every eye blink gives me a rush of joy!” he proclaimed. And as the other person bustled without breaking stride toward yet another appointment on yet another busy day, they felt invigorated by Rudy’s optimism. “Man, I think I’ve got it rough, but whatshisface is wearing a damn jellyfish for a helmet and he’s doing just fine. Maybe life isn’t so bad, after all.”

Rudy died of head trauma on his stroll to the hospital, but he inspired more than a few people on the way there.

The “How’s it going?” pleasantry doesn’t work for me because almost everyone is far too comfortable with a bullshit reply. For just one day, I’d love to see “How’s it going?” replaced by the far more straightforward inquiry: “Any nervous breakdowns today?” If you ask someone how it’s going and they respond negatively, you don’t know if they’re being melodramatic about having a pebble stuck in their shoe or if they’re having a legit nervous breakdown, and you may very well waste your time sympathizing with a former Geology lab partner that isn’t even having a nervous breakdown. The question, “Any nervous breakdowns today?” will save you that time and cut through some bothersome red tape.

And you’re much less likely to fib in response to, “Any nervous breakdowns today?” The nervous breakdown inquiry is hard to take lightly. I’ve fibbed about how “It’s going good” on countless occasions, but I can count the number of nervous breakdowns I’ve had using just three hands.

In closing, let me just say that if you ask someone, “Any nervous breakdowns today?” and they nod, try not to bustle toward yet another appointment on yet another busy day—not right away, at least. Walk with them to a nearby restaurant and do your part: in an act of compassion, buy the poor soul a sandwich of their choosing.

And if the person doesn’t like sandwiches...hell, maybe they deserve to have a nervous breakdown. The anti-sandwich people cannot be saved.