The Social-Lubricant Lie

Maybe seven, eight years ago, it struck me that there is a type of lie I had never before considered. I call it the social-lubricant lie. Let me explain.

I was standing in front of the faculty mailboxes in the journalism department, sorting through my mail. Two colleagues were doing the same. One commented negatively on a memo that we all had received. I don't remember what the memo was about, but let's just say it was something small, like a reminder to clean up your workspace after you had finished copying or assembling papers, something like that. Perhaps the other professor said something like, "Oh, gawd, another memo! He's always sending out these ridiculous memos!" As if hit by a bolt of lightening, I realized that if I fed this negativity, this grumbling, I would not be honest, since to me it was a reasonable thing to ask to clean up after ourselves. The social lubricant lie would have been to say something like, "Yeah, he's a real pain, that old memo-writer!" Instead I just smiled, said, "Oh, well," and walked away.

I began to give some real thought to social-lubricant lies. I began to see all the energy and words and drama wasted over them, how much of human interaction consists of these disingenuous statements.

They are not the same as so-called white lies, though perhaps white lies are a type of social-lubricant lies. White lies are more volitional; the person uttering them knows that they are not true and yet says them supposedly to protect someone's feelings. Most social-lubricant lies are on a much more automatic, unthinking level, as they are often just a parroting of what others are saying without any inner reflection as to how one actually feels about the subject.

Since that day standing in front of the mailboxes, I have been attentive to my own interactions with others, taking care not to engage in this pervasive type of lie. And this doesn't mean calling others out about their infractions. It just means conducting myself in such a way that I am not violating my own truth. This can be done in a cute way, as I did those seven, eight years ago in the journalism department, simply smiling and offering a noncommital "oh, well," thereby not offending anyone, but not feeding their criticism either.

So just as an exercise, go about your next week attentive of the social-lubricant lies that are everywhere to be found. Very often they are linked to a complaint. So whenever anyone complains to you about something, hold back for a second and determine how you really feel about the subject. Is it worth complaining about? Is it really all that awful? If not, why not simply smile to the complainer and with your eyes bright and cheery, say, "oh, well"?