Table Manners - Up the Greek Without a Paddle

I was invited to a banquet the other night. I said yes, I’ll be there. My Sweet Al is with his brother hunting doves in New Mexico and I will bring my daughter for my date.

My writer friend, who had invited us to sit at his table, introduced everyone. He said to a woman, new to the area, “Betty writes a column for the SUN. If you’re over fifty you probably read her column.”

“Yes, I read her column.” The woman looked at me, smiled, and then her eyes narrowed and she scowled at him. “Do you think I’m over fifty? Do I look over fifty?”

“Well, I, ah, ah, ah.”  My friend danced around the table with one foot in his mouth, the lady was choking on her salad. I was licking my wounds and chopping on his words, “If you’re over fifty!” I didn’t know only 50-plus people read my column. I remember the editor saying she tried to provide something for everyone. I guess I’m entertaining the old people now. That’s news to me. I thought I had things to write about that was relevant to the mass media. Apparently, my words are only relevant on old ears that are hard of hearing.

Another lady, sitting at the table, attempted to smooth down everyone’s chicken licken’ feathers. She spoke up, “So Betty, what’s going on in your life?” She wanted small talk. If you know me at all, I like a good deep meaningful discussion. Apparently I don’t do small talk unless it’s all about me. My family tells me so. I guess the trick at banquets is to keep the small talk going.

I thought I had something interesting to say so I shared what was on my mind. “It’s football and Greek. I’ve learned a new word in Greek. It’s sphere and it’s different than space.”  Apparently their space and my sphere didn’t fit together.

Like usual, everything went silent. There were no takers. Nobody cared about my tidbit of knowledge and how much I know in Greek. I think I went too deep. They were digging out.

I threw them off. Then someone caught their balance, played with their food, and talked about their children. Small talk started up again. Everyone was happy. (I tried to explain sphere and space in Greek to my kids at the Black-eyed Pea Restaurant over dinner, but I will save that for another article) The rest of the evening I stayed in my Sphira and they in theirs. I must say I love being in my Sphira.

I called my friend the next day. I’ve written before about my introvert friend, Sheila. She and I have a weird kind of friendship. It’s perfect for me. She’s interested in me, and my Greek, and I quote her. It’s not perfect for her, because she’d rather stay unknown. I don’t know why, she’s so funny. Of course, I’m going to quote her. She should know that by now.

She asked how everything was going? I told her I learned three things at the banquet the night before.

“That’s all? Just three things?”

“Well, I only heard what was important to me. I live in my sphere and others live in their space. I did learn, only people over fifty read my column and nobody cares about my Greek words.  And, they only want to talk small talk when they’re socializing.

She gave a quick quip. “So, you’re up the Greek without a paddle.”

I laughed. I told her I loved it and I needed to use it for the title of my Blog. It’s perfect for my Greek Devotions for my Writers’ Blog. Can I use it? Do you mind if I quote you?”

“You’re going to quote me anyway and you never get it right.”

“Well, I do skim your words a little off the top. But, I’ve changed your name. That should make you happy.”

“Do you know how many people read your Greek blog every week? I read it.”

“That makes three people. No one’s interested in Greek today, and I don’t know why? I try to educate them, but they don’t want to be educated.”

“What else is going on?”

Football and traveling with our kids on the road. I didn’t know it, but apparently being old, we need to learn some dinner etiquette. We ate at a restaurant while we were traveling. My Sweet Al told the hostess that the Strawberry Lemonade made him sick the last time he was there. She glared at him and walked away from the table.

As she walked away I said, “Well, it’s true.”

Our daughter said, “She’s not the one to tell.”

Then our waitress came back to the table and I said, “I ate in the car, I’ll only have a little something, I’m not very hungry. I’ll just have the sweet potato with cinnamon, brown sugar and butter.”

And my Sweet Al popped up, “It’s true, she ate all the kids’ food in the car. She was in her sphere.”

Our daughter said, “They don’t want to hear stuff like that, they’re not here to socialize, they’d just doing their job. Give them your order, no chit-chat, it confuses things, then the order gets put in wrong. They really don’t care what you ate in the car. It’s like when I worked at the Hub when I was in high school. The Senior Citizens would get off the tour bus and the young people dreaded to wait on some of them.”

“They wouldn’t just order, they’d have to tell us that they couldn’t eat sesame seeds on their buns because they’d get stuck in their teeth. Onions bloated them, and ice-cream gave them the runs. All they had to say was No onions please. Do you know how bad that sounds to young people who never want to grow up? Older people need to know that. That’s rude.”

“Well, you have to give me credit. I’m not texting at the table like a lot of people do today. Now, that’s rude to me.  When I go out to lunch, I don’t look at my phone. I try to engage in deep conversation, give the people around me my full attention and enjoy them. Isn’t that the way a lunch date or dinner with friends should be?”

When did it happen? We tried to teach our children proper etiquette at the table, now they’re trying to teach us how to act in a restaurant. They communicate with each other with their phones at the same table. I don’t get it. At least we are still communicating and looking at each other when we talk. I’m still wondering, when did we get old?

Final Brushstroke! It’s a new day. For all my friends over fifty, who are reading this column, the tables have turned on us. Young people are eating weird things, they’re not talking, and they’re busy texting their friends at the same table. They can’t put their phones down for a minute and just talk to them. And they think we are the rude ones. I didn’t tell my daughter how the banquet went. Oh me, I’ll keep that one to myself.