That's My Table

So it's freshman orientation at the University of Notre Dame. A time of new beginnings, of hellos, goodbyes, and all sorts of strange things that parents only do when in the presence of masses of other parents. You know--the insane number of pictures, the career wars, the "I'm hoping his social life takes off in college," followed by "Are you sure you don't want your letter jacket?" Most of the time, these snippets of conversation are kind of hilarious. Sometimes, not so much. To the gentleman who said "That's so high school" while walking past me, you're lucky you kept walking. Didn't want to beat you down in front of your freshman then stamp all over your limp and twisted body. Stop crying--that's so geriatric.

I actually wish I were a bit more intimidating. I know that I like to bow up, but clearly I am not anywhere near as intimidating as even the most average toddler. Why do I know this? Because of what happened to me today in Reckers.

After singing at the Liturgy and Music retreat, or whatever it's called, at my favorite place--Sacred Heart Parish Center--I headed to Reckers for lunch. There were several things that went wrong there, but I got lunch and sat down to read the paper and eat. Brilliant idea. So brilliant that someone else decided to do the same thing.

I'm sitting at the table, reading, when a young man who definitely looked like a frosh (though I could be wrong) came over to the table. Put his books on the table and sat in the chair next to me. Started reading his book and drinking his soda.

I was pretty much astounded. I would never, ever do that, particularly when there were two other, empty tables around us. Didn't quite know what to do, so I just ignored it and kept reading and eating. Then his buzzer went off and I thought, yes, maybe it's to-go and he'll, well, go . I was right: it was to-go. But he did not leave.

No, he put his food down on my paper, opened it and started to eat his lunch, while reading his book. He still had not said a word to me. Now, I get thoroughly irritated with people who borrow the salt from my table in the middle of a conversation with their friends, or who come over and start poking through the sections of the paper that I haven't read yet. These things are simply rude, because it is clear that I have staked a claim on this particular table, and anything on it is automatically within my personal bubble. You want to use my salt? Fine--acknowledge my presence and the fact that you're interuting whatever I happen to be doing. This can be as easy as saying, "hey, do you mind if I borrow your salt?" Make sure that the paper isn't one I purchased, which only takes one simple inquiry: "Excuse me, is that your paper?" This can be supplemented with "do you mind if I read the comics?"

Thing was, I couldn't even really be irritated with this person. I mean, I was a little annoyed, for sure, but what kind of guts does it take to commandeer a table while the table's occupant is still there? And what was I going to say? "I don't know where you're from, but here we're not very personable. Find your own damn table, and get off my newspaper. Oh, and welcome to Notre Dame." Or "I know that we are ND, but not that close--piss off." Neither of those came to mind, actually, or I might have used one. As it was, I finished my meal, packed up and went my way. I'm still kind of flabbergasted by it.

And now, I think an early night, because we have to be at the JACC at 8am. That's right--8AM. For a 10AM liturgy. Wahoo.

Song of the moment: "Colors"~Amos Lee