I posted this yesterday on Facebook. It's a brief story about my experiences while waiting for my car to be worked on Wednesday. I never really thought about making it a blog, but it's probably ten times more interesting than anything I've written recently, thanks to the wonderful people involved.
This is an actual story, with no motive, no agenda, no politics, no religion, no slant, nothing. Just a story.
Yesterday, I took my car in at 8:15 AM to get an inspection, an oil change, new windshield wipers, and what I assumed would be other work, praying it would be inexpensive. They ended up not taking my car into the garage until nearly 11:00, but that isn't the important part. The part I'm telling is my time at McDonald's.
I walked from the garage, about a quarter-mile, to the local McDonald's. It's been ages since I've been in a Mickey D's, but I figured I'd do some paperwork while having a coffee. I ordered a large and sat down. A few minutes later and an older gentleman sat down a few tables down. Minutes later, another, then the two men were joined by their wives. Before I knew it, I was sitting in a row of tables, surrounded by this group of men and women in their 70s and 80s, discussing their evenings and their plans for the day. One of them had baked cookies for the group and as it got passed around, I was offered one. Despite them looking delicious, I declined and thanked them. At one point, when it had become clear, I was no longer busy with filling out some paperwork, one of the men asked my name. I told him and he introduced himself, as we shook hands. He then went around and introduced everyone else. Some were aware, but most continued their conversations. I told them I was waiting for a call about my car and one of the gentlemen offered me a ride back when it was ready. I smiled, thanked him, but told him, I doubted it would be soon. He said "Well, my son owns the place, so let me know. I'm going there anyway.
Shortly after, the man who introduced himself explained that this group convened every weekday from about 9 to 11 AM. He claimed it was a competition to see who could come up with the best story. One of the funnier stories was one of the men explaining how he needed to upgrade his 3G phone to a 4G phone. This caused nearly all of the group to grab their phones and figure out which they had. Most had flip phones and quickly realized it didn't matter. It was then, however, that one man remembered something. He walked out to his truck, reached in, then returned with a huge Tupperware container which was the size of one of the types you'd slide under your bed. a smaller one, and a large orange knife. He proceeds to open the container and offer smoked venison and brined mozzarella to all, including me and some of the staff. A few people accepted, and then the cookies made their second round. He asked if I liked Venison and I told him that I did, but no longer ate meat or cheese. He smiled and we both acknowledged I did, in fact, know what I was missing. The conversation went from smokehouses to whiskey distilleries and ended on the topic of rum. It was then, I figured I'd leave them and check on my vehicle. As I left, saying my goodbyes, I was reminded that they'd be back tomorrow, and the next day.
As I walked away, it dawned on me, that it was the first conversation I'd had in a long time that lasted over an hour, with no conflict, no competition, no glances at phones, and enough smiles to warm even the biggest cynic's heart. Age may be the reason or simply camaraderie, but the simple pleasure of being alive, talking to friends, and being in their company, was enough for this group to make their days complete. It made me think of my grandmother and made me realize that while the stories may have been repetitive in nature, it was the connection she craved, that we all crave, and all have the opportunity to enjoy if we could just put down the phone, ignore our selfish interests, and allow ourselves to enjoy the most simple pleasure: an in-person conversation.
This morning, despite the subzero temperatures, I was tempted to return. To tell them of my day, my car, and more than anything, to listen.
Comments
Post a Comment