Emotions Are Stupid

Here's another picture of Riley. Again, she's not really relevant, but she's cute.

I woke up this morning having slept well. I made myself a pot of coffee, did some reading, some music listening, showered, and eventually dressed. Rami woke up and I made him some more coffee. When we got hungry, we decided to go out for lunch.

Overall, it was a lazy, pleasant, and unremarkable morning.

It's slippery out there, since the temperature has risen above freezing a few times in the last few days, and the sidewalks are coated with a firm layer of ice that was once snow. We skidded a little on our way out. When we arrived at the restaurant intact, we paid for the lunch buffet, served ourselves some rather nice looking salad, and sat down. I chose the table. It was one of the smallest tables, and since there would be only two of us, it seemed the best and most considerate choice. There was an elderly man sitting at the table next to us. What happened next can really only be explained by a bit of stream-of-consciousness.

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Me: That old man is really well-dressed. But he's alone. I wonder if he's got any family. Oh, stop it. You know perfectly well the joys of eating alone. Why should he be any different? Yes, but he seems so weak.  He shakes a little when he brings the fork to his lips. Why isn't someone with him?

[At this point, tears begin to well up in my eyes just a little.]

Oh for god's sake. Don't cry over it. He's just a well-dressed elderly man. The guy wants to have a nice lunch out without some stupid woman feeling sorry for him. Besides, maybe he's an asshole. Yeah! Maybe his family doesn't want to be around him because he's been such a monumental dick to them over the years.

[And at this point, the man gets up slowly but steadily with his plate in his hands and places it carefully in the tub of bussed dishes behind us. He's just cleared his own table, even though I've always seen people leave their dirty dishware to be cleared by a member of the waitstaff at this restaurant.]

Okay, well, he's probably not an asshole. Actually, he seems sort of lovely. Why has no one taken him out to lunch? Why should he have to take himself out to lunch?

[The tears are getting harder to manage now. Rami touches my hand and asks, "Are you okay?" I nod and say, "Of course. Totally fine." We go to the buffet and serve ourselves some lunch.]

Eat your lunch now. It's salmon and beef and some yummy looking potatoes. Forget him. He's fine. Why do you assume he's lonely? Mmm, these steamed vegetables are good. He's getting dessert now. He's so frail and so gentlemanly. Fuck, I'm going to lose it right here in this restaurant.

[I look down into my plate of food in the hopes that no one will see that my eyes are beginning to overflow. Rami quietly whispers, "Seriously, are you okay?" "Yup. Nothing to worry about. Ignore me, please. I'll tell you later," I whisper back. The man gets up and clears his dessert dish as gingerly as he had his dinner plate.]

Well, isn't that nice. I won't have to salt my food. What the hell is the matter with you today? Get a grip. Cry over something that matters. Syria. Sweatshops. ...Syrian sweatshops?

[Now I can scarcely manage to stop the tears from falling. I try everything. Rami asks me once more if I'm okay. I say yes. "Well, do you want to get some dessert?"]

Should I tell him that I just want to book it and go home? Nah, I can make it. I can control myself for another ten minutes.

[We go and spoon out some rum raisin pudding for ourselves. We sit, and the man is gone.]

Okay, are you happy? He's on his way back home, wherever that is. He'll hang his coat at the door. He'll probably kiss his wife and tell her he had a nice lunch. He enjoyed the solitude, just as you used to back in Connecticut when you felt comfortable in your surroundings and you didn't shudder at the thought of someone asking you for the time.

[But the man isn't gone. He's at the coatrack, struggling a bit to put his arms through the sleeves of his coat. The tears are streaming now. I sniff as if I've been sneezing in the hopes that people will think I'm just horribly allergic to something. I say to Rami, "Let's go." He nods and we walk out.]

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"Okay, now tell me what the matter is," Rami says, concerned. "Is it your stomach?" 

"No, no, let's just go home. I'll tell you there." 

"No, now." 

And so I tell him. We rush to a secluded part of the street and I'm spitting out sobs as I'm chuckling at myself. 

"This is the stupidest thing ever," I say. 

"Yeah, it's pretty stupid," Rami says as he clutches me. 

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Oh, and it was stupid indeed. To cry even as you're aware -- even as your rational mind is churning in an effort to stop your emotions from showing outwardly -- well it was just about the stupidest thing I've ever experienced. It was also incredibly embarrassing, but Rami assures me that no one noticed but him. 

Fortunately, the guy wasn't facing me. In fact, I never even saw his face. What was it about him? I can't be sure. Did I simply misdirect some sort of abiding sadness? Is the winter getting to me? Maybe, but I don't think that's terribly likely, either. Nope, I'm just going to chalk this one up to a particular brand of "temporary insanity."