Flirting with Eye Contact

Flirting with Eye Contact

While wandering through Paris this weekend, a friend and I debated the pros and cons of making eye contact.

She avoids it. That way, she never has to fend off the clipboard people, the street vendors, or anyone who seems to have an urgent cause.
I, on the other hand, believe that eye contact makes life richer — that it opens small doors to connection, kindness, or something entirely unexpected.

Today, she may have scored a point.

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At the airport, I found myself in a long, slow line for passport control — wedged between what felt like an entire tour bus of fellow travellers.

Then it happened: I made eye contact with a security officer.
He motioned for me to step out of line and join him in what looked like a faster, more exclusive lane.

One point for eye contact.

He asked me to place my carry-on bags in the measuring frame, frowned at the size of my second bag, and weighed them both together.
“Four kilos over,” he announced. “Could you maybe lighten your load?”

Not easily. I was flying to Shanghai for four days and had been feeling rather proud of my minimalist packing.

He looked me over, as if calculating which part of my wardrobe might be expendable.
(And yes, I caught myself laughing internally at the idea that this young officer had any interest in me beyond my luggage weight.)

Then came the verdict: I’d almost certainly have to check my bag.

Point for the no-eye-contact team.

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And then, out of nowhere:
“When are you coming back?” he asked.
“Thursday.”
“You arrive Thursday?”
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Then have dinner with me on Friday, and I’ll let you pass.”

Seriously? That works?

I laughed, declined politely, and continued toward passport control, pretending the whole exchange had been an elaborate little joke.

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So, will I stop making eye contact?

Probably not.

If connection is a gamble, I’ll keep playing — even if it sometimes costs me four kilos and a dinner invitation.