Colm O'Regan: 'I misinterpreted a fistbump as a handshake and covered the fist with my hand'

Colm O'Regan: 'When were emotionally repressed as a people it was much easier. You went around cold, wet and hunched over. Now we’re supposed to be Southern Europeans, talking with our hands, kissing on both cheeks, eating meals with no sign of a spud at all.'

I don’t think anyone was to blame. The terms of engagement had not been made clear. But then, they never are.

The occasion was the aftermath of a gig. A woman approached me to say hello. She was a sister of a good friend of mine. It had been a while since I’d seen her and I couldn’t remember one vital detail. Were we ‘shake hands’ or ‘cheek kiss’ people? Don’t pretend you haven’t a similar categorisation.

There are people you’ve never touched beyond the wrist, if that doesn’t sound too weird. For whatever reason, the terms of reference have been set out and you shake hands.

But what if you can’t remember?

She got closer. It was do or ‘hi’ time. I panicked. I extended a hand for a handshake, changed my mind at the last minute, decided to kiss. By this time she’d already moved her head and I ended up administering a peck on the tip of her nose. I still don't know what she had intended because we didn’t discuss it. 

Anyway I have since moved country out of embarrassment and changed my name and now only communicate with my family through a PO box number.

I hadn’t even gone in for the kiss willingly. Most kiss-greetings are a load of nonsense anyway. Especially the double kisses. ESPECIALLY if during or after the double kiss, one party says: “Oh we’re gone all ‘continental’ now, hahah”. Well you know what? If you’re that self-aware about the inconsequentiality of it all, don’t do it.

When were emotionally repressed as a people, it was much easier. You went around cold, wet and hunched over. Now we’re supposed to be Southern Europeans, talking with our hands, kissing on both cheeks, eating meals with no sign of a spud at all. The double kiss is the pinot grigio of greetings.

Greetings are getting out of hand. Literally. Everyone’s hugging now. There’s nothing wrong with a hug but a hug should mean something, like if you’ve just scored a goal, done a duet with Bruce Springsteen on your birthday, or successfully come through the Strait of Hormuz.

A proper hug should last six seconds in order to release endorphins. I’ll sometimes ask my children for an impromptu hug because it’s cheaper than therapy. My Fitbit congratulates me after. Whichever hugged daughter will say: “Daddy can you let me go because I want to watch ‘ Boy Girl Dog Cat Mouse Cheese’.” 

The vague shoulder bump achieves nothing other than making you look as if you’re just trying to get around someone on the aisle of the Cork-Dublin train.

Whatever your views on the role of the Catholic Church in the formation of Irish society, one can’t deny it did teach generations how to shake hands. The sign of peace — often an excruciating ordeal for neighbours touching neighbours — was the break for a bit of motion for distracted small children. 

Adults looked away and proffered their hands limply, but small siblings giggled as they handshook extravagantly for a minute. Not letting go, like Trump with Macron. 

Without that education, the handshake has changed from “Peace be with you” to “Peace bruh”. A vertical handclasp that looks an invitation to arm wrestle. Sometimes, even I hold out my hand for the conventional one, some latchico will twist it up into the silly one. 

Please don’t. I do not give my consent for a post-1985 handshake. But since nose-kiss-gate, I’ve done the same myself again. Given more than was asked for. I misinterpreted a fistbump as a handshake and covered the fist with my hand. As if I were paper and he was rock in Rock Paper Scissors. I have since fled the place I fled after the nose kiss.

Just brief curt nods for me from now on.