Last year I was living in a hostel (basically a very cheap hotel) for a few months. About a month in I realized I'd probably be stuck there for a while and started to make myself at home.
I started buying dishes for the shared kitchen. People kept "borrowing" them, so new guests would come, cook something, and have no fork. So I made sure there were always dishes.
The kitchen was a dreadful place. Deathly quiet. This strange tension in the air. Everyone was avoiding eye contact. There was a kind of toxic miasma about the place, and the unspoken agreement was to leave it undisturbed.
I, the heretic: I would greet people! I would greet people who were in the same space as me.
I am told this was considered normal, by our ancestors. In my case, it was partly "it's morally wrong not to greet them", and partly social anxiety around strangers. (In both cases, my autism ;)
So I solved that problem by just saying hello to everyone. I made the tension go away by saying hello.
Two weeks later I had like twelve friends. They started talking to each other, and a whole community formed in the kitchen. It was great.
I thought that was pretty cool. It also got me thinking about how, if I had been able to find a studio apartment or something, I might have ended up with zero friends instead.
In the context of the loneliness epidemic, I have to wonder if the shared kitchen is one answer. More precisely: the absence of a private one. (It sounds harsh, but the alternative... we are currently living through.)
I love this clip from the 90's TV show Northern Exposure on the same subject: