The strangeness of strangers

The older Samson gets, the more likely he is to say something quasi-darnedest in public. Case in point: We were at the gas station, and a woman in an African-style head wrap walked past. Smooth Sam J pipes up with : "That lady sure is fancy!"

We were at supermarket earlier today, and the deli line was stacked three deep. We pulled "57" out of the little ticket machine, and the red number on the Now Serving sign said "32." Not good.

[Sidenote: Is it me or is there an overwhelming number of people desperate to test drive their prosciutto before committing to the purchase of half a pound? Honestly, if it's midday Tuesday, I don't care if you sample the whole case, but if the wait time for lunchmeat rivals that for tech support on a Dell, maybe you could do us all a favor and take a leap of faith. I'm just saying is all...]

Anyway, we do some shopping and come back to the red counter of doom showing "46." So we're getting there. Samson is with me, hoping (in vain, as it turned out) for a slice of cheese from the deli person. [He got his slice, but not from the girl who helped us. For some reason, only old guys think to give a child a piece of cheese. I'm not sure if it's accrued wisdom or a common bond of needing small meals all day, but whenever I see a guy who served in Korea lined up to wait on us, I know Sam is getting a sample.]

The guy next to me is loudly proclaiming the slowness of the service, the ineptitude of the staff, and the general hardship of waiting a half hour for some meat. He's kind of saying it to me, hoping, I guess, for that "I hear you brother" moment that sometimes happens on lines.

If you know me even slightly, you know I'm not that guy. Especially if I already have someone to talk to. Doubly especially if it's one of my children. So supermarket solidarity guy delivers his spiel, and I give him a sort of half nod in the hopes that this will suffice and I can stop hearing about his travails --- especially since when his number was called (52, in case you're curious) he didn't order everything all at once [as in "I'll take a pound of turkey, a quarter pound of cheddar, a half of roast beef, etc] but did it piecemeal. Each time the counter guy arrived with a new thing, he ordered something else.

Anyway, I give the half nod and then Samson says, loudly, "Who is he talking to?" followed by "Is he talking to us?"

Perfect.