If you were part of the tenth of the school that took Professor Scott Plous’ social psychology last spring or last fall, you know about his assignment in which students are told to “violate a social norm.”
Social norms are expected forms of behavior and instead of just reading about them in our textbook, we were instructed to actually find out what they were for ourselves. As long as we didn’t hurt ourselves or other people, discriminate in any way, or break the law, we could violate all we wanted.
The garage on College Street has always been a site of interest to me. Not because I’m fascinated by garages, but because I’m fascinated by garages that play classical music all day long loud enough to be heard by pedestrians. So one Friday last year, I broke a social norm and stood outside this garage and spent 15 minutes pretending I was an orchestra conductor.
When I first assumed my spot outside of the garage, I felt hesitant and simply moved my hands a bit, as I waited for two women to walk by. Then, when no one was near me, I went wild. Both hands flew up and down in the air as I sang at the top of my lungs. I alternated between loud “la”s a3nd melodic “ooooh”s. About nine out of every ten drivers turned their head and looked at me. Most simply stared; a few smiled. If more than one person in the car noticed me, they pointed me out to the rest of the passengers. By about minute seven of my conducting, I got good at keeping a straight face, which I only found difficult when I looked directly at people staring back at me.
Passers-by were more intrigued than drivers. Those walking on the other side of the street stared at me, slowed down as they neared, and kept looking back after they had passed. Most people were senior citizens, and from my observations the people who tended to smirk, smile, or laugh were closer to college-age.
It was most uncomfortable when drivers looked at me quizzically and then pulled into the parking lot across the street, because I knew they would then be getting out of their cars and have another opportunity to stare at me. A car full of girls who looked like they were in high school drove past me, laughing hysterically, pointing, and then parked in the lot. When they got out, they were still laughing and whispering. By this point I had really gotten into my role.
“Legato!” I shouted to my imaginary symphony. The girls passed and each of them looked back at least once. But this wasn’t sufficient for me. If I was going to violate social norms, I was going to violate them all the way.
“Trumpets, I can’t hear you!” I shouted between my bouts of singing, loud enough for the girls to hear. They turned around again. This must have been particularly amusing for them, seeing as the music was played by a strings orchestra.
Breaking this new ground left me with no shame. I threw in an occasional “forte!”, I praised my cellos, and I raised my conducting to an excited level that involved jumping up and down. I noticed that no one walked past me on my side of the street—they either went through the garage or they crossed the street. No one ever talked to me either, even when a car pulled up directly in front of me and the man who works in the garage got out of it, gave me a quick glance, and went into his seat in the garage.
Nearing the end of my performance, a woman working at a business across the street went outside for a cigarette break, sitting directly in view of me. By this point, even with her constant watch of me, I was not at all embarrassed. The only reason why I stopped my conducting, frankly, was because my arms were tired. I ended my performance with a grand bow in the direction of my confused- yet captive- smoker of an audience, and walked away, returning to the world of obeying social norms.
Leave a Reply