So, every now and then I get stir crazy in my life. I don't know how else to explain it. I love my family, my friends, my job, my husband. But sometimes I just need to not be there. So I go out on what I've come to call walkabout.
Meaning, I leave home for time to do anything I want and usually stay gone all day, overnight or maybe just an afternoon. Sometimes I go north, sometimes south. I find a good place to write, or read, or shop, or sometimes just drive around. Mostly I pretend the stresses in my life don't exist.
On a warm October day, I was sitting in the northerly wiles of Alabama at a Panera bread having coffee and a bagel, which I can never get in my small hometown.
I came in to a mostly empty restaurant, located in a more upscale area. The entire back half of this decent sized store is empty, because I waited until about 8 am to get here. I take a booth in the very back corner, where no one is around for miles.
After about 10 minutes, in comes a couple. Mid-thirties, I'd guess. Blonde and tall, both of them. I'd think they were brother and sister if they weren't wearing rings and arguing so much. He's wearing a dress shirt and jeans, she's in an uber-coordinated work out get up. Shorts, tennis shoes, pullover shirt, backpack-all matching.
Though they both have a southern accent, she talks with that stiff-jawed style that is usually associated with Boston Brahmin. From the minute they sit, all she does is complain and berate her husband (I assume) who is trying to work.
And their manners, obviously, are atrocious. She opens her laptop.
“Ah, mah gawd. Thu cheah'leadahs are doin' a breakfust for eveuhreyone. Cuud you make it more cahm'plicated? I sweaaah,” she says.
“mhmmm mumbledity mum” says husband, who obviously has a whit of sense about him and is talking in low tones, so I can't always hear what he's saying.
He's saying something about work.
“Ah thought yew said yew lahkd working alone?” she counters.
“Well, I did but I mean, it's been 2 years,” he says.
“Wehhl, all I kno es whut ew sahd....”she counters.
She is digging through her backpack for something.
“Ahnd, did ew evahr fahnd mah book?” she asks.
“mmuuuumbldy mum, I don't remember having....mmmmmumblety mum..”
With mouth stuffed full of bagel, she raises her voice... “AHRE YEWH KIDDING ME. ALL AH KNOW ESS mmmmTHE LAST TAHMmmmmm I SAW IT, Immmmm GAVE IT TA EYEW. Ahnd thahts all ah kno.”
“What time is it? I really need to get home. I wanna watch that thing,” says husband after about 20 minutes of it.
“Whaaaat thang?” says she.
“The, the...the president is talking...” he says.
“REALLY? Really? That's where you prah-or-ahteys awre rahght nahw? Ah yew kiddin meh? Really? Thaht issss sew stoopid. Yew want to go home to watch the pressahdent? Wow. That isss the stoopidiest thang ah've every hearhd.”
“mumbletiy.....mmmmmm..mmhmmmbletiy mum.”
Then, later.
She says, “Ah need a pahpah clip. Dew yew have a pahpa clip?”
“No, I don't,” he says.
“WHAT? That hahuge bag and you don't have ONE pahpah clip? Seriously? How cewd ew nawht have a pahpah clip?” she demands.
He's digging furiously through his computer bag.
“One. One pahpah clip. That's all ah need, and ew dohnt have it.”
Um. Sister? You need so much more than that. Perhaps paper clips aren't your biggest problem right now.
“No, but I have one of these,” he says holding up a small binder clip.
She sighs, rolling the eyes a bit as if he's good for absolutely nothing. Finally she holds out her hand.
“Ahm gonnah need two more. Two more. Ahm gonnah need two more.”
He's on the verge of panicking as he digs through the bag. It's so bad I almost, almost, reach in my laptop bag to pull out a small pack of paperclips that I keep in there and toss them at her just to shut her up.
He comes up with another clip, a huge one. I stifle a giggle. She just looks him dead in the eye for about 5 seconds, then takes it with another huge sigh.
As she is still sitting working on whatever she needs those paperclips so desperately to contain, he is up
and packing his bags to leave. He basically walked out and left her because his priority was watching the president talk about healthcare and not planning the cheerleading breakfast.
She packed up her things, left their trash on the table, and followed him without a word. I thought how much I'd hate to be in that car on the way home. Or in that house.
Sometimes I forget how lucky I am when it comes to life partners. I can't imagine being so miserable that you have to make everyone around you miserable too. Well, now that I think of it, perhaps I've done that as well. You'd have to ask husband. He's around here somewhere....
