Exterior Monologue...

Greetings and salutations—Bubbe’s back to describe someone you may have met at a mah jongg game.

I’ve named her after one of the most famous literary figures of all time—Hamlet. “To pass or not to pass?” “To throw or not to throw?” “To call or not to call?” “To…” Oh, just make up your mind, already!!

Ms. Hamlet’s articulations aren’t as profound as her Shakespearean namesake’s. In  Searching for Bubbe Fischer, I write about the player who dithers or self-talks, musing aloud and unable to make up her mind about any little thing. “Was that a six or a nine? I think they already threw two of those. Wait, let me count my tiles. What if I just switch these? Give me a second.” I’m not talking about a newbie here, I’m talking about someone with years of experience who still holds up the game.

Perhaps she doesn’t even realize that she’s doing it. Each of us has our own interior monologue, but it stays interior--most don’t feel the need to broadcast it. Imagine Ms. Hamlet going through her entire day without a filter, expressing whatever comes across the transom: “Should I make broccoli tonight, or zucchini? When’s the last time I got the oil changed? It looks like there’s construction going on across the street. When did Diane stop coloring her hair? She looks awful!”

She’d have no problem behaving that way in public—nowadays many people use blue-tooth headsets, so no one thinks twice if someone appears to be talking to herself. However, her mahj mates know what she’s really up to, and are frustrated with her constant chatter. It slows the game down and then they forget whose turn it is; they can’t focus on their tiles. Hmm…could that be her intention?!?

What causes Ms. Hamlet’s behavior? Is there any cure for the rest of us? She may have lost confidence in her mah jongg ability, and uses self-talk as a coping strategy. Perhaps it’s a holdover from early motherhood--many of us provided running commentary for our toddler companions, but stopped when they were old enough to put in earbuds and tune us out. Maybe she’s used to talking to her pets.

The kindest solution is to say, “Hamlet, dear, we are trying to concentrate on our own hands. Please keep your thoughts to yourself, and try to be mindful of the time.” The snarkier among us might start to answer her queries. A group I played with, years ago, came up with another solution. We only allowed our Hamlet three outbursts per session. “That’s one, Elsie,” we’d say. “You can’t keep holding up the game like this.” She usually got the hint and stopped after the second soliloquy.

If she persists even after you’ve asked her, time and again, to please get on with the game—and to please keep quiet and stop distracting everyone else—then you need to evaluate. Maybe you and Ms. Hamlet can take up a different hobby together. If you just can’t bear to change the way your group is configured, I suggest getting an egg timer and some ear plugs.

We’ll see who turns up at the table next time—if you have ideas you’d like to share, email me at bubbefischer@gmail.com . I’d love to hear your stories. 

Bubbe Fischer

P.S. On a serious note—I’m neither a gerontologist nor neurologist, but if someone’s behavior at the table has significantly deteriorated (increasingly forgetful, chronically indecisive or disoriented), it could be a sign of other issues. If you have a regular game with this person and know her family, tell them you’re concerned. The above article was meant to be in fun, but your friend’s confusion could be a symptom of more serious medical problems.