BURGERSCOOT

From time to time, Sam would set aside his reclusive behavior and try to join the human race. Sometimes this would happen at social events at the different jobs he had over his forty-five years on the job. Once, it was while trying and failing to become a member of a local chapter of the Oddfellows. Another time it happened with a smaller, more intimate group.

Even when he makes gallant attempts to mingle, the Fates usually exile him back in the corner–away from the action. Take, for example, an Oktoberfest about ten years ago at a now-defunct health club, when he encouraged himself to sit at a table with some nice-looking young folks and lamely attempted to make conversation. They politely responded to his queries about what basketball, volleyball, handball, or racquetball leagues they were in when the Assistant General Manager came up with a digital SLR, said “Smile!” and he took a few pix of Sam and the others.

Sam made sure to smile, though the years and the pounds have made him not very photogenic. When the images of the club’s Oktoberfest appeared on the wall opposite the handball courts a week or so later, letting all the members who stayed at home know what they missed, Sam noticed he had been cropped out of the pictures of the friendly-looking members at the table where he sat. Sam looked at the activity board, and it looked like he didn’t exist at this club. The Fates strike again!

When Sam first got a motorcycle, he attended a few meet-and-greets with a motorcycle club. He also attended a couple of runs. Part of the reason for all this activity was to attract someone who would sponsor him as a prospective club member, but that requires the ability to approach total strangers, pick up what they are talking about, and interject intelligent or provocative thoughts. In just about all these events, Sam ended up in the corner, which is way too comfortable for him.

There was a time when he used to attend a monthly dinner-and-a-movie night with some work associates. Sam loved the monthly events and looked forward to these gatherings of anywhere between five and nine gentlemen. Sitting at the dinner table at whatever restaurant the group decided on that month, Sam could pick out only four or five guys he knew from work; the others were veterans of the dinner-and-a-movie group, and it showed in the way they spoke to one another. They spoke to one another as if they had been friends their whole lives, and some of them did go back to high school or college; Sam, on the other hand, was an outsider, knowing only a few for more than ten years and exclusively through work.

The same old problem reared its ugly head during these events. Sam felt like a wallflower, a little intimidated by these guys. Even one guy he knew probably more than the rest, Chuck, had a way of arguing that intimidated Sam, and so even though Sam looked forward to these nights, he rarely spoke up at dinner. One time the subject turned to politics, and Sam decided to jump into the fray and say what he thought about a specific issue, now long forgotten. Chuck shot back, “Yeah, but you’re a libertarian.” Yes, it was a stupid, asshole comment that could easily be refuted, but Sam moved back into wallflower mode, which he was comfortable with. In the conversations Sam had with the ceiling that night, he had shot back, “What the hell does that have to do with the issue?” But in that moment, he recoiled and decided to stick with his chicken tikka masala and coconut milk.

Anyway, during the last gathering he attended, he mentioned someone who was persona non grata, and Chuck lashed out at him. Chuck later told Sam everything was cool between them and not to worry about it, but how could he? Chuck made it sound like Sam brought this fellow up in conversations multiple times, and Sam couldn’t remember any other time. For Sam’s own sanity, he skipped the film portion of the night and never attended another dinner-and-a-movie night again; lest he say something offensive the very rare times he spoke up at all.

With Sam’s exit from the dinner-and-a-movie group, he was once again a loner. There were other events to attend, like the symphony and chamber music performances at the college, though he attended them alone. At first, that fact had the old familiar sting. He ordered his single-seat season subscription, traveled to the concert alone, took one program, and sat in his aisle seat, where he could slip away without disturbing anyone. But the music did not care whether he came with a date or a group of like-minded friends. It met him where he was.

One evening, during intermission, a woman behind him in concessions tapped him on the shoulder and asked what was good to eat here. It was a ridiculous question because it wasn’t a bistro; the concessions sold M&Ms, Snickers, Milky Way, et al. Sam replied, “It’s all junk, but I get in line strictly for the Pellegrino mineral water.”

“Oh, is that good?”

Sam turned to face her. “If you like mineral water, it’s the best.”

The woman gave an expression like she hated the stuff, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’ll tell you what,” Sam offered, surprised at how outspoken he suddenly was. It must be the woman’s kind and open face. “I’ll pay for whatever you’re getting if you take the first swig of my Pellegrino.”

The woman placed her wallet back in her bag and replied, “Deal!”

When they both left concessions, Sam handed her his Pellegrino. She took one tiny sip from the bottom and winced, just like she did at Sam’s description of the product.

“That’s horrible!” she said loud enough for some people to turn their heads.

Sam’s laugh was also a little too loud. “I’m sorry for laughing, but wow, you really don’t like mineral water, do you?”

“I guess not. Hey, are you looking forward to Beethoven’s 7th?”

Sam exclaimed, “Absolutely! It’s kind of my sentimental favorite. By the way, my name is Sam.”

“I’m Julia. You know we’re neighbors. I sit directly above you, Row S.”

They chatted through intermission, and when the lights dimmed, Julia squeezed Sam’s right shoulder and whispered near his ear, “Let’s talk after the concert.”

Sam turned his head and mouthed okay along with the okay finger sign. Still, he spent the first five minutes of one of his favorite pieces of music wondering if this could be the beginning of a wonderful relationship, maybe even a romantic one. He also worried that Julia might be the type to whisper or talk during concerts, shows, and movies.

That would be a wonderful dilemma.