There are times when I no longer feel like I'm part of the human race. The other night I passed some of the restaurants on Polk Street, and everyone of them was filled with happy twenty-somethings of the Caucasian persuasion.
At such times the single diner is not welcome.
There's something so nice about going to a restaurant with someone else. The choices are greater, and you don't have to bring a book to keep from looking desperate. And you have company.
I could always try talking to myself........
Chances are then that the restaurant would be anxious to never see my face again.
Coffee shops outside of Chinatown are another dangerous place.
If you're by yourself there's an excellent chance that someone with a unique set of social skills will try to strike up a conversation. And you just know that no good can come of that. Either you've got a new best friend for life, or someone will remember your face and glare spitefully at you every time you come in. Accost you on the street and accusatorily continue a discussion that exists only in their mind, for which once they found you they discovered a face. Scream at people on the bus that you have cooties. Or unerringly locate you at a public event and get you both kicked out.
Obviously I don't go to many coffee shops.
At bakeries inside C'town there are enough normal people that I can just dawdle over my cup and observe. And if some elderly gentleman gestures at an empty seat near me, it's pretty much a guarantee that he merely wants to sit down, rather than tell me about the space aliens and free masons.
I don't think there actually are Cantonese who worry about space aliens and free masons.
Maybe they're just very good at hiding it.
Elsewhere? A crap-shoot.
On Polk Street or in North Beach I could always pretend that the empty place is occupied by my invisible friend. That would keep some people away. Unfortunately, others would then insist on joining the party and being introduced.
There's nothing quite so creepy as someone asserting that your invisible friend is the most charming, intelligent, and downright ATTRACTIVE person they have EVER met.
Especially when your invisible friend stubbornly refuses their attentions.
Really, I like humans. You might not think so after this rant, but I do.
Honestly.
I just wish I knew more of them.
I'm getting tired of being by myself.
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FOG CAUSES FITS
When I woke up on Tuesday the fog was thick enough to cut it with a knife. Much much later it had disappeared. My late lunch in Chinatown wa...
6 comments:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/0982053959/ref=rdr_ext_sb_ti_sims_1#reader_0982053959
Hey, I travel a lot for work, and I have to eat out alone a lot. (and I've been doing it for over 30 years.) But I do't let that stop me from finding good restaurants and enjoying myself. I just go in and act like eating alone is a perfectly normal thing to do. Sometimes I'll bring a book. In any event, I just focus on the food, and if I', lucky sometimes I can have a decent conversation with the waiter. Sure, sometimes I feel lonely or like I don't belong there, but the only alternative is room service at the hotel, and that's 100 times worse.
Don't let it get you down.
Except for 12 galaxies guy
Us humans really like you too.
Except for 12 galaxies guy
When you’re the 12 galaxies guy, you have an infinite number of co-pilots.
Your landing patterns might be a bit erratic, though – too many cooks.
That my friend is a disorder I call aloneaphobia. I've been stricken with it for the last couple of years. Half of the month I'm cooped up in my hovel smoking pot and eating rice cakes. The other half I have the children and suddenly my misrable exsistance has meaning. I would like to fix the bad half but it's a catch 22 situation in that I acually have to go out the f'ing door, An awful thought to be sure.
Kevin
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