Dear Uptight Seattleite,

Where I’m from, if someone comes up and tries to engage you in a conversation about how Hillary is leading an army of My Little Ponies in a secret war against the NBA, the proper response is to avoid eye contact and move away quickly. But you people, despite your reputation for unfriendliness, seem remarkably willing to engage in conversation with random crazy people. I heard one woman say to a man in soiled pants and a ripped, puffy jacket, “Well, anyway, at least it’s Friday!” As if on the weekend he would be relaxing from a long week of scrounging for cigarette butts by scrounging for cigarette butts in a more leisurely manner. Do you all see every interaction with the differently hygiene’d as some kind of test of your tolerance?

Crud Shunner

Dear Crud Shunner,

If it seems like there’s some kind of test, that’s because there is. You’ve heard of secret shoppers who are hired to check a store’s service? There are also secret street people. They’ll note not just overt rudeness but also the silent waves of superiority you may emanate while standing at the bus stop like an imperious radio tower. Is that man in the alley ranting at God or relaying a report on your attitude via the Bluetooth device implanted in his skull? You’ll never know.

But don’t worry! Talking to them is not as hard as you might think. Most every conversation—with a crazy person or not—follows a pattern we can grasp without conscious thought. Simply relax and let the pattern assert itself like the moon on the ocean tides: Someone makes an observation, then you make vague sounds of agreement. So if a man in “Your Basic Hat” turns to you with the full power of his bloodshot high beams and remarks, “Mother Squirrel’s pissed a right fortknock, ruddy,” smile brightly and say, “Huh, yeah. I’ll say!”

But perhaps, unable to simply surrender to the gentle, timeless flow of human courtesy, you’re doomed to fail the test put to you by the next secret street person you meet. Half a block later, you’ll feel yourself being steered by the elbow into the back room of the nearest independently owned coffee shop for a complimentary soy cappuccino and a quick little seminar. Don’t panic, though! You’re perfectly free to go. Just as soon as you grasp a few principles of tolerance. You’ll emerge blinking out into the street 20 minutes later with a more compassionate view of the downtrodden of the world. You may also spontaneously realize that mocking the kindness of your fellow citizens is not the most productive use of your energy.

Dear Uptight Seattleite,

I’m pregnant with my first child and trying to come up with my own mom fashion. Colorful and fun but not clownish. When I was in N.Y.C., I saw these great galoshes with polka dots—they seem like the perfect accessory. What do you think?

Osh Galosh B’Gosh

Dear Osh,

Gosh! Galoshes! Wow, yeah. My own mom never wore them, but my dad did. People just don’t anymore, do they? I myself am pretty much good to go in any weather with my Salomon Trail Runners. Anyway, I’m certain that cushioning your steps with the colorful pattern of the galoshes you describe will both send positive energy to your uterus and provide a sweet vision for those of us old enough to remember when every dad had a pair.

Dear Uptight Seattleite,

Self-conscious about my new boyfriend’s thinning hair, I blurted out to my friends that he has cancer. Is it OK to ask him to play along?

Girlfriend With a Baldy

Dear Girlfriend,

A crackling current runs through a new relationship, generated by the unspoken struggle for dominance. Who will be the one in control, and who will live in fear of being dumped? That’s sort of how I remember it, anyway, though I will confess to a bit of a prolonged dry spell. That kind of grappling doesn’t generally work out for me somehow. I do better at scaling a hill in a national park than winning a heart in a natural chest. But let’s reach back through all the preceding hill-grappling to reconnect with the electricity in the first sentence. Let’s use it to raise the curtain on my suggestion for you: Ride this playful, dangerous energy toward a thrillingly unpredictable ending. Look him in the eyes and ask: “What can I do for you in exchange for your feigning cancer tonight?”

Have a question for the Uptight Seattleite? Send it to uptight@seattleweekly.com.