I have fed too many people for free.
I'm was tired; burned out; grown weary of
the perfunctory 'thanks' and lack
of eye contact.
So I'll quit doing public service meals
and start to lunch out.
I went to a Thai place to have drunken noodles.
There's no alcohol in them, but they wobble
on your fork.
Thai restaurants are famous for their slow
service. But the slower the service, the
better the food.
So it didn't bug me too much when it took
a half hour for my noodles to arrive.
But then I couldn't block out the conversations at
the other tables while I ate.
People much younger than me, in white shirts and
blouses, with tattoos on their arms,
were talking about IPO's and
turnover rates --
not about the beautiful spring
day outside or how good the food
tasted.
And it came to me again; that I'm not
part of the modern human race anymore.
I am a relic.
I looked in the mirror
in the Men's Room and saw a pudgy old
geezer in a wide brimmed straw hat with
his pants held up by suspenders --
who yearns to talk about his collection
of Archie comics when he was a kid
and the awfulness of his mother's
tuna casserole on Friday nights.
Tomorrow I'll make the old ladies
vegetable turkey soup in my slow cooker.
At least they don't have any tattoos.
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