She’s been home two weeks, but we’ve yet to go out to grab a meal at one of our regular haunts. Since her bags are on the bed, cavernous, preparing to gulp up refolded business attire, shoes, and stuff that ladies use that I do not, I offered a brunch. No one wants to cook, and I don’t want to do dishes.
She picked the spot, and it was excellent. Our adventure has nothing to do with the business proper, but in the midst of sitting in a sunbeam discussing how great the menu was, my ears, not fantastic when getting marching orders, but really good at hearing certain conversational cues, picked up on some anti-police talk that made me listen more intently. I can’t help it; I hear conversations all around me, tending to find one to surreptitiously listen to if it piques my interest. I think I honed it years ago, in radio. But it helped a lot in cop work.
You see, you can talk about whatever you like, and you can be hateful and discontented with the police for sure. But the word used to describe the cops of the local police department, my former employer, was one of the crudest in the land. It was nasty and loud.
The word is one you don’t use in public and shouldn’t use in private, so I was surprised. I looked at the fella from about thirty feet away, and could tell he wasn’t concerned about the number of normal humans who were around, nor the family with two young kids sitting nearby. His words were not meant for me, and I surmised he forgot where he was. He moved on to other topics, but it didn’t settle well with me.
I was determined to point out the word, but not his sentiment, in person. I wouldn’t have needed to tell him that I did that job, at that department for a quarter century, just that the word was too much, and that he was working at a place where the word simply doesn’t fit in, especially with the number of ladies around, both dining and working.
The S.O. knew I was running close to a 212F temperature within my brain and said, “You don’t need to fix it. It’s not your problem.” She was right. No one else around appeared to hear the descriptor, and we were out for brunch. It takes me a few minutes to let go, and the main course was in front of me. Our server was a gem.
The table beside us with a young family caught my attention. The young boy and girl were boisterous but well-behaved. I pointed out to my Significant One that the parents really were on their game. Parents who parent are to be lauded in my mind. At one point, when one of the kids got a little carried away, Dad took her out, then returned after a reset of the parenting type. She apologized to her mother in her tiny, sweet, squeaky voice. They continued on, doing what families do: smearing some syrup and boxing up the leftovers. It was nice to see.
I had moved on, completely. Realizing that hearing something outrageous did not mean everyone else did. I headed to the bathroom and left the S.O. with the bill, planning to return and head to the truck together.
She was gone when I came back out, and as I looked for her, a nice young woman at the counter was extremely polite, asking me if I was looking for my wife, and that she’d just gone outside, asking them to tip me off with the news if they saw me looking around. I appreciated it.
On the way out, Dad and daughter were right behind me, leaving too. I decided I’d give a minor encouraging word, quickly mentioning to the father, “Nice job parenting. It’s nice to see. Good luck.”
He acknowledged it with a thanks, and I moved on, across the parking lot to the truck.
Upon my arrival, I told her how nice it was that she had left the message with the staff, as they saw me looking back at our now-empty table. I said, “They were so polite, almost too excited to tell me.”
She said, “They should be. I told them what you heard, and that we loved the restaurant, but that you didn’t come here to hear anti-police sentiment and foul names for police officers.”
“Oh,” I said. “You didn’t want me to do it, clearly.”
“You wouldn’t have been as pleasant, but I felt they should let him know that other people are around, and sometimes they are retired cops who are also paying customers. They were very nice about it and very apologetic.”
“I saw the Dad and his daughter, and told them they were doing a good job with their kids.”
“Perfect,” she said. We headed to Lowe’s to pick up some drawer organizers. She claims I’m not doing a great job at clutter control at the Ranch on the Knoll.
I agreed.
From the Jagged Edge of America, I remain,
TC