The Table

When I could no longer endure the cacophony at my favorite table in the back corner,
I looked around for a new place to enjoy my lunches. Spotting one near the front I moved there for peace and relative quiet. Franny thought I was a dirty-old-man (DOM) because I had sat with the other two “young” men at breakfast. They did not have stellar reputations. Unlike the real DOM, Mr. Wolf, who last bathed in 1999, I rather enjoy being a DOM.

Occasionally when the back corner table was full, Franny would sit with me down front. Despite my cherished reputation as a DOM, she enjoyed talking with me during meals. Many of us cannot hold a conversation beyond the menu and the weather. As time progressed, we became great friends who shared many stories over our meals. Her daughters became my extended family and I, theirs.

When she finally was confined to her apartment, two of her close friends joined me at “The Table.” Fine ladies; I enjoyed their company and would still. However, right after Franny passed on, two other women claimed seats at the table where I sit. It is not “my” table. They, too, are fine ladies. One of them can hear pretty well.

Yesterday, another woman made a comment about my “harem”. Guess I am back to being a DOM.

The angry phone call last week has prompted me to change my position. There is too much risk for revenge. After much thought and prayer I have determined that the situation at Windlands cannot be fixed. Henceforth, I will endeavor to avoid references to the management.

AsA

Remember to turn off your lapel mike when in the restroom.

The following post is based on an experience when I was 13 and had a Lexington Leader paper route.