P. C. Vey

Complaint Box Fit to Be Tied? Send your tales of ire and indignation — no more than 500 words, please — to: metropolitan@nytimes.com.

Where was I on the day that “hihowareya” became one long word devoid of meaning? I must be asked at least 10 times a day how I am, but I have yet to find one person who actually wants to know. This drives me absolutely crazy.

I had not realized how much the pointlessness of this much-repeated phrase annoyed me until last summer, when I came upon a lady on the street who was walking with her head down. As we approached each other, she suddenly looked up and asked “Hihowareya?” I was pleasantly surprised by this sudden inquiry about my well-being. But before my brain could conjure up an answer, she had walked right on by.

Shortly thereafter I was practically accosted by a twentysomething fashion industry hopeful after I staggered in the front door of a clothing store with three heavy shopping bags and a wet umbrella, which I was attempting to shake out without impaling a fellow shopper. “Hihowareya?” she enthusiastically asked before returning to her task of refolding sweaters, oblivious to the fact that I was rather encumbered and in need of a hand.

Since then, I’ve seen old people in doctors’ offices barely able to make it up to the receptionist area, having this pain and that pain, only to be received with a placid “Hihowareya?” by a receptionist whose head is buried in her appointment book. Most of these folks answered back, “Fine, how are you?” This makes no sense to me. They are in a doctor’s office. Again, where was I when “Fine, how are you?” became the automatic response to “Hihowareya”?

Sometimes I try a surprise response like, “I’m great since the police didn’t find me,” or a lengthy one like, “Well, I was O.K., until I got on the train and spilled my coffee, but thankfully the man sitting next to me offered me his napkin which. …” By the time I finish I am usually having a conversation with myself.

I have also tried to beat folks to the punch. Once a receptionist smiled and opened her mouth, but before that four-word jumble could come out, I enthusiastically said, “Hi!” This is what I felt like saying to her; no more and no less. Yet her response, quick as a wink, was: “Fine, thank you. How are you?”

Clearly it had not occurred to her that I would be so bold as to actually omit the “howareya?” — something I now do all the time. I make it a point not to ask people how they are unless I really want to know and am willing to take the time to listen to what they have to say. And when people say to me, “Hihowareya?” I smile but don’t answer, because chances are they really don’t care.

Jennifer Seager lives in Bronxville, N.Y., and does consulting for early intervention programs in the city.