I am an “old-time diner” kind of guy. My aunt used to have a “restaurant” of that ilk, named “Bernie’s. I remember my brother painted the sign that hung outside the Main Street building in Enon, Ohio.
I like to be able to read the breakfast menu and not have to Google search what a particular menu item means and figure out how what I am reading might apply to what I see on the menu.
I actually worked there some and learned some of the secrets. One was that the ice cream that was used to make milkshakes is a grade or two lower than a scoop served on a cone. I also learned to not smash the hamburger on the grill, because the burger won’t be quite as juicy.
This brings me to a recent experience at a gentrified, upscale, definitely non-diner breakfast place near my home. I was not having breakfast at one of those places.
After needing to have a portion of the menu interpreted for me by some kind waiter and Google search, I ordered. As I looked up, I noticed that at a table across the way, a gentleman turned over an egg timer and set it on the table, and the sands began doing their thing.
As he and his partner talked, they would, from time to time, glance at the egg timer. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what was happening. My first thought was that they must be timing how long it took them, from the time they ordered their food to the time they actually got it. But a three-minute timer? That’s all they were going to give the chef? Or maybe they would give him two or three flips? Weird.
I finally pointed out to the people at our table what I was seeing, and after looking his way, they politely informed me, “Oh, it is a tea timer. He is timing how long his tea bag has been in the cup.” They said it so matter-of-factly, as in “What rock have you been hiding under?” that I felt like a dolt. (Not the first, nor the last time, I am sure.)
I have had more than a few cups of tea myself. When the tea with tea bag comes to me, I start drinking it. With the bag in it, until all the liquid is gone. I then realized how much of what is important in life I must have missed, important enough for a person to bring their own “tea timer” to breakfast with them. I found out later that the restaurant actually supplies those to their tea drinkers just as they would a saucer.
Speaking of tea. There is a little place near the farm I use in middle Tennessee that is called “The Beacon Teahouse.” With a name like that, tea lovers might expect a countless choice of teas. They would be very disappointed. Black, green, and sweetened/unsweetened iced are the choices.
And unless it is a diner, you’d probably be appalled at how much I don’t know about dining etiquette, in times and situations where I am somewhere that isn’t on my “Where would you like to go eat” list. I have adapted to that handicap. When I am in strange places I obviously don’t belong in, I try to watch what those around me are doing, and copy them, so as not to embarrass them or myself.
I recently had the delightful pleasure of chatting with an 11-year-old little one. She and I were talking about a habit she had developed. I listened a lot. She allowed me to come inside the home that is her heart and mind. What I heard was touching. She was insightful. Brilliant. Powerful. I felt sad and touched. Being with her reminded me just how it feels to live in an adult world when you are not yet an adult. How it feels to walk around in a world that other 10, 11, 12-year-olds populate. Especially when they are playing out the pain of their lives on each other. Luckily, she has some amazing parents who listen to her really well, without trying to fix her. Reminds me of the adage “What people need most is a good listening to.” (Mary Lou Casey) That is one of the basic principles that directs my life. A journey for sure. Especially for those closest to me.
I was shopping and as the salesperson and I were looking down at a purchase agreement, I heard her say, “And on top of that number you see there (the recommended selling price set by the manufacturer) there will be a $5,000 surcharge. As I looked up at her, she looked back at me, smiled, and said (without me asking) “Because we can,” and chuckled.
I was reminded of a concept called the “Pro-Social Scale.” The concept suggests that there are 10% of us who are genetically wired to take advantage, whenever we can, in whatever way we can, of a situation where others are in need. Of another person, or people. We see and take the opportunity to enrichen ourselves. I realized I was dealing with an organization that represented that 10%. I thanked her for her time and left.
In case you are curious, the rest of the scale suggests that when 60% of us see another human being (or animal, sometimes) in need, experiencing inequity, unfairness, vulnerability, neediness, etc. we are “moved” to “fix” that somehow. It is genetic. We can’t help it. Some of us terribly moved (9 or 10 on a 1-10 scale, and actually do something).
We make terrible “for profit” business owners, by the way. Some others of us are sort of moved (2, 3, or 4 on a 10 scale,) and probably don’t do anything but it disturbs or irritates us. Some of us in this “it disturbs me” category often wish “those people” weren’t so visible to us, because it makes us feel bad, and would (and do sometimes) advocate for them to be removed to another place, out of our line of sight. For some of us that is what we “do” about it.
Another 30% of us see the very same thing and react to what we see as we might a crack in the sidewalk. Nada. Doesn’t do a thing to/for us.
And as mentioned above, the remaining 10% are moved (some mightily) to see how they might take personal advantage of the situation.
From my perspective, I am glad for the 60%. I have a hunch those folks are a major cause of our being here as a species. Ruled, of course, most often, these days, by the 10%. If 10% were dominant in terms of actual numbers of people we’d become extinct as a species, and depending on the research studies, perhaps are. For this very reason.
The young girl I mentioned earlier was clearly in the 60%. Probably an 8 or 9 on a 10 scale. She saw and deeply felt the inequity and unfairness, and it hurt her personally. Not in her life, but in the lives of those around her. That will never change for her, and though I am sad that she will always be aware of and “feel” it, it will be good for the people in her life. It will be good for our earth.
Why does root beer pop (or soda, or a ‘soft’ drink, whatever you call it) foam so much more than any of the others? Is it the roots? Or the beer? Neither? Both? If it had a different name, would it still foam as much?
At one point in my life, our grandchildren were excited to see us. Now I am excited when they want to see us.
I host “Mortality Retreats.” One friend (thanks Ed) who had attended one told me that as he envisioned mortality he was literally sitting, looking at a barbed wire fence, and drew a picture of it. His words and description caused me to wonder if mortal life is being fenced in, as in a concentration camp, or fenced out of what happens after we die. What do you think?
We were visiting friends recently and their little dog was sitting on my lap. (Thanks Tom, Maureen, and Caitie). A deep wondering thought came over me. “If a dog’s sense of smell is fifty times more acute (as I remember reading) if I farted, a really deeply stinky one, might I kill their dog?” Later that day, I was able to test that hypothesis, and what happened was hilarious. (At least to me.) It didn’t kill the dog.
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