Sometimes
one does terrible things. And it's intriguing just how long it can take to find
oneself out. The bad or selfish or egotistical or arrogant or self-righteous
deed does not necessarily
register at the time, at least not sufficiently. I realized I was overstepping
a delicacy of social conduct, but the full possibility of its consequences did
not strike me until today, two months later. While contemplating those passing
below my balcony the quiet thread of my thoughts lead to a remembrance of the sad
incident, and I felt deeply, seriously, remorseful. My contrition, I'm aware,
might however be entirely speculative.
Two
months ago I met a previous student and his girlfriend at my local hangout. I'd
not seen him in over a year. They met me outside by my car, as arranged, and
they pushed me in my chair inside the restaurant. My usual table was free. My
chair fits nicely away from the people traffic. I do not even need to look at
the menu. I've taken many a friend there. Living on an island by the sea I bring
friends from the States, from Australia, from Alberta, from the mainland, and
from around to share my favorite place to be, to eat that is. I am a regular!
And it has often been the same waitress who has served me. A woman perhaps 40
something. She's seen me with most of my friends. But she's never acknowledged
my specific presence. Never quite seemed to see me. Yet I've left her
reasonable tips. I've been pleasant and polite and handed up plates to her, a
difficult thing for me to do in the circumstances. And on this day, with my
students, when she came to the table something of the proud Mr.P in me felt
like being acknowledged.
"It's
time we knew each other," I said. Instantly there was awkwardness. I drove
my point, albeit gently. "You don't seem to recognize me, yet I come here
often. I am... " and while I was finishing my little self-aggrandizing
introduction it was evident to us she was
embarrassed, but I could not withdraw the tenor of my missive. We
ordered. Someone else brought us our meals. I did not see her again. I remember
thinking that perhaps it was the end of her shift, perhaps she was caught up
with other tables, and that was that. But I confess, it has kept niggling at
me. I have not seen her again since then. But I
never did quite resolve that moment, did not admit culpability. Until
today, too much later.
Another
student I've not heard from in over a year just wrote. I finished my response,
made my coffee, went to sit in my favorite arm-chair with the balcony
viewpoint, and wondered why I'd not heard again from that other student and his
girlfriend I'd taken to the restaurant. And then I recalled my aberrant
behavior, thought of my needing the attention, of my embarrassing the waitress,
of her perhaps resigning that day thanks to the final straw of a customer being
rude, of her feeling awkward and 'less than' in front of my students young
enough to be her children, of her uncertainty and being perhaps pained by my
being in a wheelchair and virtually accusing her of not recognizing me. Of her
possibly feeling hurt and sad because she'd perhaps lost someone handicapped.
Of her being bereft and... Well, speculation is what it is, full of fanciful
imaginings.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thanks for your contribution, by way of comment toward The Health of the Whole, always!