Tag: life

December 2025. a musing

A Thought

“Well,” commented my daughter-in-law in an observational, not judgmental tone, “He certainly made a negative impression on you.”

Which made me realize that I had once again complained about the rude waiter we’d encountered not once but twice at “G” restaurant, declaring that it would be a long time before we went back there to dine.  

I replied, “The first time I thought he might just be having a bad night, and so we went back, but we got him again and he was just as bad.  As soon as we sat down, he announced that the kitchen was closing in twenty minutes (and I wanna get out of here) and then just kind of tossed the menus on the table in front of us and walked away.  Served our entrees the same way too.”

Thinking about it and my reaction more, I realized that at most restaurants, including “G” on past visits with different servers, the wait staff was pleasant and friendly.  But unless the waiter really stands out by providing exceptional service or has had to contend with some unforeseen problem with amazing grace and calm, I really don’t remember them once I’ve received the tab, added the tip, put away my charge card, and stood up to leave.  Why do those who create a pleasant experience seem so anonymous to me but the ones who sour the experience are remembered so clearly and with such detail?

There was the audiologist at Costco who was such a grouch last year when I asked if I should have another audiogram since I was not getting much benefit from my hearing aids.  “You just had one last year.  You don’t need another.”  (Period. so stop bothering me).  And yet at every other interaction with the hearing aid center, the staff has always been so pleasant, smiling, and willing to help, and I don’t remember any of them except for the one from my most recent visit just three days ago.  Why does bad service stick in my mind and why do I take good service for granted?

Shakespeare alluded to this fallacy in Mark Anthony’s funeral oration in Julius Caesar when he wrote, “The evil that men do lives after them, the good is oft interred with their bones.”  To quote Shakespeare while musing about bad server interactions may be a bit pretentious.  I mean we are considering a failure of service, not the murder of a legendary historical ruler.

That said, how can we and, why don’t we, recognize and reward good customer service more often?  And by the way, what is good service?  

To consider the second question first, good service probably means different things to different people.  For me, it means that the service person sees, recognizes, and treats me as an individual, not just a faceless paying customer.  

With respect to the first question, the usual way to reward a good dining experience is to leave a larger than customary tip.  Although the server will be gratified by this, does he or she realize that you, are thanking them for their effort.  That you’re not just a big spender out to impress the company that you’re with?  The server probably would be left with a warm glow if, as they presented your bill, you specifically told them how much their service added to your enjoyment of the whole experience.  The message being that you also see them as a person, more than just the anonymous server of salads and entrees.  That you are aware of them and appreciate their efforts.

I guess to sum up before putting this ramble to bed, or interring it, we all would like to be seen and recognized as individuals. Expressing thanks and gratitude when we have a pleasant encounter with another person will leave both of us smiling.  Just by performing a non-random act of kindness. .

May, 2025, Story

A Night Walk

Time to take that nightly walk, Olivia thought.  The night was still warm from the heat of the summer day. and there was hardly any breeze.  No need for a sweater or a scarf.  As usual, she used the toilet before going out.  I don’t want to have to rush home and risk a fall even though I’m just going around the block. It’s a long block and I walk slowly.  I guess I could wear one of those adult diaper-type things, but I like to think I haven’t got there yet.  But someday who knows.

Her cane was by the door next to where Lucy’s collar and leash still hung from one of the clothes pegs on the left wall in the entry way above the bench where she sat to put on her walking shoes.  No laces she thought, glad they came out with these velcro straps.  Old Lucy, I miss you.  Fourteen years old.  You didn’t pull hard anymore like you did when you were a puppy, after you became slow, just like me.  We were two old dogs out for a walk.  If Tommy had heard me say that he would have laughed and said, “Glad you didn’t say two old bitches.”  Well now there’s just one, me.  Check and double check to make sure I have the key before I close the door.  Don’t want to lock myself out.  Turn on the outside light. 

She carefully descended the two steps to the cracked concrete walkway leading to the sidewalk; holding on to her cane with one hand and the stair railing with the other.  How did I ever manage this with Lucy too?  That was two years ago, and I was steadier on my feet then.  Just two years, what a difference.  And long before that, I walked with Tommy every night, no problem.  Lucy was a big support for me when you suddenly died and left me, Tom, and it’s been thirteen years.  No warning, Tom, that was the worse part.  When you didn’t come in for lunch, I went to the garage and found you stretched out on the ground next to the car.  Gone.  I think I hated you for doing that to me, even as I cried and loved you and missed you.  Oh Tommy.  We had a good life together, didn’t we?  Except for the ending. 

It was a safe neighborhood.  Not gated, but with neighbors who had been mostly living here a long time; who’d raised families and stayed even when their children had grown and gone.  Just like ours Olivia thought.  Jerry.  Gone to the Big city where the jobs and opportunities are.  How’s that song go—‘New York, New York it’s a wonderful town?’  Not many kids on this street now.  Though that nice new family moved in down the street last month with two young kids.  Linns.  Said they left the big city so their kids could grow up with grass and they could walk to school by themselves safely.   Guess that’s why I still stay here.  Even though Jerry keeps telling me I should move to a retirement community.  Said there’re some in the City so I could be closer to him.  Or at least one in Connecticut that would be nearer to him than I am here.  Our home with so many memories that are hard to leave.  And our town where I can walk safely at night by myself.  Try doing that in New York.

The street lamps cast their light through the canopies of the elms that lined the street making a pattern of shifting light and dark shadows on the sidewalk and street.  Olivia knew every crack and uneven rise in the sidewalk by heart.  But she still walked with her head bent slightly forward so that she could watch where she stepped.  She seldom met anyone else.  She preferred it that way.  Not that she was unfriendly, but standing still and talking was really hard on her back.  Walking during that in-between hour when dinner was over for most people and they were watching TV and too early for the dog owners taking their last walk before winding up the day.  Like I did with Lucy.  

I used to be able to hear the programs that each neighbor was watching, especially during the summer with the windows open.  But now, even with my new hearing aids, it all sounds muffled and distant.  Bad ears, bad eyes, bad back, bad knees.  Like they say, ‘growing old is not for sissies.”  Tommy, you were no sissy, but you didn’t stay around long enough to find out if that was true.  Just seventy six.  And just retired eight years.  You left me to find out about growing really old all by myself.  You were so active and strong,  Tennis three times a week.  Gardening.  Volunteering.  Still liked sex.  And yes, I did too, and I didn’t need to take a blue pill.  Well, I still think about us.  Dirty old lady—ah, if they only knew.  It took me a while to get used to not having you around.  When you were first gone, I’d start to say something to you when my back was turned and then realize that you weren’t there.  And I would ache all over again.  Who ever said time heals all things?  Baloney.  But we learn to adjust and cope and survive.  If it had been me to go first, how would you have done?  Would you have found someone to replace me?  Like trading in a car?  I wear the wedding ring you gave on a chain around my neck.  Fingers got so arthritic that it wouldn’t fit on my fourth finger any more.  Funny, I still feel for it there every once in a while.  I put your ring and my engagement ring in with your ashes.  Ah Tommy, I like to think that you’re still around me somewhere and you can hear me.  Guess that doesn’t fit with  Rev. Mathew’s idea of Heaven.

She’d made her way around three sides of the long block, and was now rounding the fourth corner and heading home.  Up ahead, under a street lamp, Olivia saw a person in a black hoody walking towards her. But all in black?  Not the safest way to dress at night.   A young person’s walk, she thought.   She decided it was a man, feeling a momentary worry.   Not many young men in our neighborhood now.  Maybe back from college, visiting parents or grandparents?  Should I cross the street?  If he plans to hurt me, I couldn’t out run him anyway.  I’ll just say good night as we pass.  Hs face was still hidden by the hood as they drew closer. 

He spoke first, a pleasant tenor voice, “Good evening, Olive Oil.”

That stopped her.  “Wait.  What?  Why I haven’t been called that since I was in high school!  Do I know you?”

He laughed, “Oh, I know everything about you, Olivia.”

“Who are you?  Please take down your hood so I can see your face.  What a surprise.”

He pulled back his hood, revealing the face of a smiling young man with head of thick, black hair.

“I don’t recognize you,” she said after studying his face.  “Did I meet you at your parents’ home when you visited?”

“No,” he replied.  “I’m here tonight just to see you, Olivia.  But I think you already know me.”

“I know you?”  Then the slow realization, as she watched him waiting patiently, still smiling.  “Yes, I have been expecting you.  But you’re so young and good looking.  What took you so long to find me?”

“To each in their own time.  And I like not being stereotyped.” he replied.  “But now, are you ready to go?  Shall we dance?”

“It’s been so long since I’ve danced.  I’ve forgotten how to.”

“Take my hand and I’ll lead.  It’ll be easy.”