We have no idea what impression we have on other people – because we have no idea what goes on in their heads.

We just don’t know what’s going on in someone else’s head. That driver who did something dumb at the lights? That co-worker who screwed up their report? Or that family member who gave you the cold shoulder at the restaurant?

It’s entirely plausible that the person is being a jerk. But can we be certain that that’s the extent of it? Are you sure that their spouse didn’t leave them on the weekend? That they’re not dealing with trauma or loss? That they’re not wrecked because a chronic illness kept them up all night?

Not that long ago, I had an encounter with a stranger that reminded me how we never quite know what impression we have on other people. It wasn’t particularly dramatic, but I remember it well because it was so unexpected.

Strange midnight encounter

Picture the following. It’s midnight on a cold Saturday night. My wife and I have just left a mate’s housewarming party in a dark suburban street at the other end of town. We turn a corner when I realise I need to adjust the GPS.

As I pull over to the nearest space, a car pulls in behind me. Figuring that I’ve inadvertently taken someone’s favourite parking spot, I accelerate and stop a few houses ahead – and that’s when the car follows, then stops beside me.

My spider sense goes off as I notice the driver trying to signal me. I lower my window (and my visceral sense of this-doesn’t-feel-right kicks in) and I notice two guys in the car.

His passenger is in the dark, but the driver can’t be over 21. He addresses me in a way that I suspect is an attempt to be assertive, but not menacing.

The conversation goes something like this.

“Excuse me [with precursory politeness], why are you [now sounding more accusatory] outside my parent’s and sister’s houses?”

I’m stumped about what to say back. I was expecting abuse, a request for directions, or a threat. But this is so unexpected. My heart’s also racing because it’s dark, late, and I’m on a quiet street with no traffic.

It takes me some seconds to formulate a coherent response. Then I tell him something to the effect of “I’m just checking my GPS mate” but he clearly doesn’t believe me. In fact, he blurts something back about “surveillance” and “contacting the police” and getting my numberplate.

I recall telling him that he’s welcome to write down my plates. I can’t remember exactly what else I said – I doubt it was clever or witty – because, again, this whole thing feels surreal.

He blurts something back and accelerates off, as I wait for the proverbial coast to be clear before heading home.

You never know what’s going on in their day

My wife and I talk on the way back about what just happened. It’s odd – but I’ve got so many questions.

Was he an idiot? Or had something happened in this young man’s life that led to this response?

Why did he feel so threatened that he’d formed the impression his family was under surveillance?

What kind of worry could make someone so paranoid?

And assuming his family really did live in those locations… it’s sheer coincidence that I stopped in front of his family’s house to check my GPS, at the exact moment that he appeared behind me, and that my attempt to vacate what I thought was his parking spot meant I stopped in front of another family member’s house a few doors up.

For lack of any other explanation, I’m going with the coincidence theory. But even so, it’s a reminder that we never quite know how we come across to others.

To bastardise a line from the Butthole Surfers’ song Pepper: you never know just how you look through other people’s eyes.