Some Sort of Amazing

There is an Old Country Buffet where I like to eat lunch, then sit and write. I go about once a week, usually in the beginning of the week, frequently carrying my netbook computer with me, but sometimes not. I have become somewhat of a fixture there. The managers all know me. So do the hostesses and the two servers who work the lunch shift. They do not know their buffet is right next to the dating club that introduced me to my now estranged husband or that it was one of our favorite places to eat when we were newly married, but they do know my face and they know my routine. I enter the restaurant, flirtatiously engaging those who recognize me, eat some salad and soup, then open my netbook to quietly write while I sip hot tea.

I do some of my best work in this comfortable atmosphere where people know me and fond memories surround me. It is also nice to have unlimited "munchies" and mugs of hot tea to wet my whistle while I "work." Honestly, it is not really work, but do not tell anyone. It will be our secret. The truth is that I write because that is what I do when other things do not crowd my time. But everybody at this buffet is under the impression that I am some kind of hardworking, secretly prestigious, eccentric, "author." After all, I have written two books, wrote the storylines for four cartoon clips on Youtube, maintain a blog, am publishing a new ezine, and am always typing away at my netbook. I must be Some Sort of Amazing. Mustn't I?

The nice thing about being "amazing" is that everyone pretty much lets me do my own thing without seeming to mind the imposition of my presence. In addition, they walk past my booth with occasional hot snacks as I write, and have become pretty responsive to my effervescence. That is very nice, as far as I am concerned. It makes me feel welcome. But I will say this. Being such a wonderfully engaging person does sometimes get me into a spot of discomfort.

Today, for example, I glided into the buffet, exchanged friendly chit chat with the hostess, as I regularly do, and found my seat at a small booth. Putting my coat in the booth, I noticed the old man (and I mean OLD) in the neighboring booth staring at me. This was definitely not the first time I ever caught a man staring at me, so I ignored him and went to fetch my drink. Like I always do, I continued chatting with whomever I recognized on my way. Returning to my seat momentarily to set down my drink, I noticed the old man still staring at me. He was frowning. I just looked away as I opened my straw, then turned to go get some salad.

As I passed the old man, he asked, "How long has it been?"

He must have seen the confusion on my face because he quickly clarified, "Since you went?"

I stopped, mind racing, to look at him dumbly. It took me a moment to figure out that the old man was making reference to the t-shirt I wore. It is very old, from when my husband and I visited Las Vegas. (I almost always wear old t-shirts and jeans to eat at this buffet. When I look nice, customers sometimes mistake me for a manager. I do not mind listening to complete strangers' comments, but. . . ). My sister, now graduating with her Master's degree, was still in college at the time we went to Vegas, so we must have gone around... 2005 or 2006, I guess. When I realized what the old man was talking about, my answer was simple, "Ohh, we went several years ago. . . but we had a blast."

Anyway, I wound up talking to a completely random stranger about how much he and his wife love visiting Las Vegas. (They have visited 18 times over the last 15 years! Honestly, I think the old man was really just looking for an excuse to converse with me.) Of course, he wanted to know when "we" planned to return. A "we" when I visited Vegas last time and still wearing a wedding band, but no longer able to speak as a "we," I minced words to arrive at an answer that did not require me to divulge the legal and Biblical conflict in my marital status to this old-timer. Really, I just wanted to eat my lunch and get on to my "work" without being rude or seeming unfriendly.

I successfully dodged the whole "we" issue by divulging my preference for cruising over Las Vegas. (Whew! Narrow escape!) Then, somehow, the whole uncomfortable conversation was over. With a smile, I left to get my salad and continue about my normal, comfortable routine in peace. But as the elderly gentleman walked past me to exit the restaurant, he did turn around to say good-bye and tell me to enjoy "ourselves" if "we" ever decided to visit Las Vegas again. I met a nice, old man today. Didn't I? It is good to meet older adults who are able to enjoy their golden years. That kind of thing is rare, these days. I hope the old man and his wife enjoy their next visit to their favorite vacation destination.

Sometimes it is very pleasant to be an engaging, secretly prestigious, "amazing" author who is eccentric and comfortable enough to wear a 5 or 6 year-old t-shirt while eating lunch with her memories.