Someone Else’s Life

The Old Man and the Park Bench

(At a recent dinner with my wife’s family, I kept the conversation going at our table with a variety of stories. I stumbled across the word “raconteur”. This posting just helps to capture my affection for the word.)

Eleanor had always loved the bustle of Central Park, but even the familiar clamor felt different today. Pausing on the pebbled path, she surveyed the scene – a symphony of dog walkers, pretzel vendors, and the rhythmic thud of joggers marking their miles. Her gaze settled on a worn, wooden bench and the old man who occupied it. He was slight but spry, a mischievous glint in his watery blue eyes.

“Gorgeous day, wouldn’t you say?” The old man’s voice was surprisingly strong, with a hint of a long-faded Irish lilt.

“It is!” Eleanor responded, a smile warming her lips.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, already patting the spot next to him.

“Not at all,” said Eleanor, settling down.

For a moment they both watched the world go by. Then, the old man chuckled, a sound like dried leaves rustling in a gentle breeze.

“You ever stop to think about the stories out here?” he asked. “Each person, a whole book in ’emselves. I bet I could tell you somethin’ ’bout every one of ’em.”

Eleanor’s curiosity was piqued. “Like what?”

The man’s eyes sparkled. He pointed to a young couple strolling along. “See them? Sweethearts. But look closer – he’s tense, knuckles white gripping that coffee. She’s forcing a smile. Bet you a fiver there was an argument this morning.”

He shifted, gesturing to a harried woman, phone squawking. “That one? Corporate climber, late, about to get chewed out by her boss. See how her briefcase is clutched tight, like a shield?”

The observations kept flowing, some silly, others surprisingly pointed. Eleanor laughed, then gasped as he accurately predicted the trajectory of a wayward frisbee.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

“Ah, lassie, just a knack, and a lifetime of watching people. Makes you a bit of a raconteur, I suppose.” He winked.

The word struck a chord with Eleanor. “A raconteur? A storyteller?”

“That’s the one. It’s more than telling tales, though. See, a good raconteur doesn’t just spin a yarn. They make you see the world a little different. Find the extraordinary in the ordinary.”

The sun dipped below the treeline, casting long shadows.

“I must be off,” Eleanor said regretfully. “It’s been…illuminating.”

“The pleasure was mine.” The old man tipped an invisible hat.

As Eleanor walked away, she thought of the young couple, the stressed woman, and wondered about their hidden dramas. The park, once just a backdrop, now hummed with invisible narratives. Her heart felt lighter, and she smiled. The old raconteur had given her a most unusual gift.

A Tear In the Time Space Continuum

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After running a few errands last night (picked the girls up from school, picked up son from school and taking him to work, ran to Trader Joe’s in downtown Ft Worth so the girls could replenish their need for some sort of “cookie spread” stuff, a quick meal at Chik-Fil-A, and a few items at Sams), we were on the drive home.  When to my amazement, I looked up and saw the RacTrac lowering their price on gas.  I was already kicking myself for not getting gas at Sams for $3.219.  When I saw this (see above) price change, the ability to cut across 2 lanes of traffic to make it to the turn lane seemed like a privilege.

After pulling in at the pump, I needed to verify the pump matched the sign.  And, it did.  I took a look around the lot and everyone appeared to be dressed in the appropriate dress for our temperature and era.  (It just seemed so very ironic that I was able to watch them change the gas price.  It is like a small tear was opened up just for me to creep into it. ) Maybe other peoples lives are more exciting then mine.  As I was filling the car, I expected others to be going, “Can you believe they just lowered the gas price?  I wonder what the special occasion is?  Is there a price war going on?  Maybe I should look to see if one of the other stations is cheaper?”  Without any of this dialogue to distract me as I waiting for the gas to finish pumping, the “tear” theory seemed to become much more of a possibility.

I completed the transaction…making sure the gas price did not spike somehow in mid-fill-up.  As we left, I again looked at the other patrons.  They all looked fine.  However, it kind of seemed like their lips were moving extra slow and their movements were somewhat choppy.  My daughter snapped the picture as we left just to make sure I had not imaging the whole thing.  Fortunately, the needle on the dash went up to full, so wherever it was I got the gas, it was substantial enough to actually take up space in my tank.  Also, I was very careful to leave the “tear” the same way I entered.  My obvious concern was if I entered the continuum in the wrong place I might run into myself back at the house.

Finally, the new day was born and ran my girls to school again.  The gas station who sold me the cheap gas was now back to the price my gas was lowered from.  Neighboring gas stations had raised their prices almost 25 cents.

The summer blends were supposed to be at the pump on May 1st, so the only “real” thing I can figure out is the gas station was told to change the price 25 cents.  They got confused and temporarily lowered instead of raised.  (Later that night a gas station in close proximity to this station raised theirs 25 cents. ) My biggest disappointment is I was only on a 1/4 tank when I stumbled upon the tear–fumes would have been better. 😉

When Getting Flipped Off

It has been a few years since I can recall being flipped off.  I never really ran in any bad groups while growing up, but sometimes somebody was sufficiently offended they deemed a “flipoff” necessary.  (I have no active memory of every having flipped anyone off.  Call me very forgetful or a person with some restraint….)

Today, while dropping my son off for his job at Chick-Fil-A, I was driving on the “outer” mall ring. (The Chick-Fil-A is in the food court.) I may have been going a little over the speed limit when I came upon a guy who wanted to pull out onto the “ring”.  Fortunately, he stopped and I kept going.  As I passed him through his heavily tinted windows, I realized he flipped me off.  It is for this reason, I am hoping to determine what the “new” rules for flipping off are:

  1. If someone is about to pull out in front of you and you have the right away but may give them a look like “Really?”, is that worthy of a flip-off?
  2. If the infraction takes place behind a tinted window is it done just to relieve the tension of the driver OR are flip-offs always meant to be seen by the one who incited the flipper?
  3. The driver was male.  Do males flip-off more often then women?  My guess is “yes”, but it seems both genders get pretty sensitive when their driving skills are questioned.
  4. Is there something worse then a flip-off to release driving frustration?  Was the driver REALLY mad at me or was it just the reaction I might give if I touched something hot.  My hand pulls away from heat while his brain tells his hand to do the “gesture” when his pride is slightly to moderately bruised.
  5. Do drivers in bigger cars have a greater or lesser tendency to do the gesture?  This driver was in a White (Does car color reflect the temperament of the driver?) SUV.  Maybe, he just graduated to a larger car and is still trying to go through his hypnosis(biofeedback or psychiatry) sessions to manage his anger and flagrant use of the gesture.  Or, maybe he thought a minivan should know its place and stoop to his more awesome ride…

When I make driving errors, I typically am angry with myself.  Is our society setup now so that when someone catches you doing something you know is wrong the anger needs to be purged from your system by doing the gesture?  I was taught that you are responsible for your own actions.  I was taught to be a responsible driver–realizing some of my decisions can effect others.  It is a responsibility not for the faint-hearted.

Is it possible the way we drive has been influenced by the selfish decisions many of us make in other parts of our lives?  Do many more of us need therapy than realize it?  Is the “tool” we call a car only an outward agent to act out our deep feelings of loss and disappointment?

Or, is the story as simple as, “I got flipped off while driving my son to work!”?  The long-winded version certainly gave my brain a better workout! 😉