3rd shift

I hope that one day people might look back on my life and say "That guy had a good life." And I hope that maybe I could pass something onto them. I hope they don't see what I did as ordinary or mundane. I hope they can see the bigger picture that I couldn't.

I think back to a play we did in high school. Of those four, somewhat unnoteworthy, years (which I mostly filled doing musicals, tending an herb garden, cooking and trying to make myself as GAY as possible) the play "Our Town" stands out as an anomaly in what would generally be considered an uncultured and boorish community. It wasn't the best production, and by far not the most popular. If I can remember correct, between the three performances, there were a total of around 100 poor souls who braved the performance. To this day I believe that if you're going to subject yourself to the work of small town public high school drama clubs you have to have some inexplicable desire for self-torture.

But the themes that this beautiful piece of theatre put forth where out of kilter with the, loosely termed, ideology that this school purported. In the kindest words, this school lacked vision. Like a good majority of rural high schools, this institution's priorities were firmly mislaid. The poor feeble administrators, most of who had lost the ability to dream the moment they found out they were working in a school district of 1000 students, saw details. They saw the minor things. They saw truancy, tardies, test scores and tenure. The idea that maybe they weren't giving students the things they need, such as the ability to think for themselves and be allowed to express themselves, never entered their minds. They failed to see the bigger picture.
Which is why this play set itself in such juxtaposition from what I was used to being exposed to. From the point of view of the characters in "Our Town, their lives are very plain and unimportant. They seem to wander through life, from birth to death, not knowing the greater impact their existence has. Only the audience sees what they couldn't: that there is nothing that is unimportant; that it is the ordinary things that are truly extraordinary. And that it is what we DO NOT do that can have the greater impact on the world.
Last night, after bullshitting with Joe for a while and he had headed to bed to work the next morning, my brain was still teaming and I needed some kind of human interaction. But there's little to find in the way of interaction at 11:00 p.m. on Friday unless you want to spend it in a bar yelling at each other over the music. So I headed to the local Happy Chef around 11:30.

To this day, I feel sorry for the man or woman who has to put "coined name of 'Happy Chef'" on his or her resume. They probably wouldn't be my top pick for an ad or marketing exec.

I was planning on getting Take-out but once I got there, for some reason, I decided to stay. I ordered some pancakes and got a pot of coffee. I sat at the breakfast bar with several older gentlemen. There were about 15 or so college kids spread over the booths and tables sucking down coffee and cramming knowledge into their heads.

I had what I like to think of as a typical 3rd shift waitress: 30 something, slim with bad posture, graying hair, pleasant, friendly smile and sad, but very kind, eyes. She didn't put you on a level somewhere other than her's by calling you "sir" or "ma'am." No, to her you are a "hon," or "sweetie." If you looked particularly distinguished you might be a "young man" or "young lady." And even the young fellow bussing tables put down his formality. To him you were a "Mister" or "Miss." If he felt some connection, you could be his "buddy." Perhaps if the right lady walked in he would throw in a "ma'am." But "ma'ams" don't seem to frequent restaurants this late at night.

The air inside was thick with the smell of stale cigarette smoke, grease, and coffee. I loved it. It felt like any coffee shop you could walk into anywhere across the United States. It could have been a coffee shop in New York.... or even New Baden. It had a familiarity to it that made you feel at ease. Places like this are what help bond us together as a nation. It gives us all reference points that lead to the greater discovery that people in general are more similar than anyone would ever care to admit.

But this homing device of sorts is also a cause, or incubator, of that issue. The issue that we don't know how very un-alone we are. This is one of the few places were you can be surrounded by so many people and still be very very alone. The very best example of this scenario is the TV. Never in history has one device allowed so many people to share an experience yet remain completely isolated and alone.
Here I sat in this restaurant... in the company of 20 or so people, and yet... alone. I could have gone and sat next to one of those older gentlemen, but I didn't. I argued that they probably wanted to be alone.
And then something said, "Maybe they don't want to be alone, but they don't know how 'not' to be alone." And I could have helped that.

I became very angry with myself as I left an hour after I arrived. Here I had a great opportunity to connect myself with the world and probably learn something in the process and I didn't take it.
No, these people are probably not the most intriguing humans you'll ever meet. Their stories are probably no different than yours or mine.

But, then again, that's exactly why I should have talked to them.