Watch what you say

Do you remember after Sept. 11, 2001, when comedian Bill Maher made a comment that was interpreted by some as being supportive of the terrorists, and White House spokesman Ari Fleischer said people should “watch what they say?”

I think old Ari was right, but I don’t mean in a political sense. I mean, more specifically, people should watch what they say to me. Here’s an example.

The other night I was in Savannah, for work, alone, and I went down to River Street to grab something to eat. I was out early, around 5, the time when the senior citizens usually start descending on restaurants. I found a little place and decided to eat at the bar, and for some reason I felt compelled to explain to the waitress why I was eating dinner so early. And alone.

“I’m starved. I had to get up at 5:30 this morning, and then I didn’t get to eat lunch. I think I’ll get a steak.” There, I thought. Now she understands that the reason I’m eating so early is not because I am a loser. Clearly, I am not a loser, and it’s important that this anonymous waitress, whom I will never see again in my life, understands that.

The place was kind of empty, so she didn’t have much to do. As I ate, she worked furiously on a USA Today crossword puzzle, and was stuck on a couple of the clues and needed my help. One was the name of a Led Zeppelin song, ____ Maker. I told her it was D’yer, but didn’t bother to explain that it was supposed to be pronounced “Jer Maker” in honor of Jamaica, because it has a reggae feel to it. Just say no to drugs, kids.

Then she was stumped by another clue: Actress Barbara ____ (four letters). Streisand was all she could come up with, but she quickly divined that to be more than four letters. So I said, “I think it’s Barbara Eden. You know, from I Dream of Jeannie.” (Man, did I used to dream of Jeannie!) She looked at me blankly, like I was making it up, but she filled in the puzzle.

She gave me the old line, “That was on before I was born.” Apparently, people think they should only know about things that happened after they were born. For this girl, that would rule out all knowledge of Creation, the life of Jesus, Columbus’ voyage to America, the Revolutionary War, the assassination of President Kennedy and disco music. There’s more, but I’m just hitting the highlights in a Billy Joel sort of way.

I helped her out with a couple more clues and she was done. “These puzzles are usually easy, but I don’t know what was up with this one today,” she said. “It’s like they did it so only old people would know the answers.”

Ouch! I wanted to scream, “I’m not old!” I’m only 44, but often mistaken for a man of 43. I’m still virile! I play sports. Sure, it’s church league, coed softball, but I play it at a very high level, unless I’m battling a pulled muscle or an attack of the gout. I have all my hair, even though it’s turning gray faster than the polar ice caps are melting. And sure, my bones creak and pop so much that when I walk up the stairs at night I sound like a bag of microwave popcorn. But to a 25-year-old, I guess I’m old.

I paid my bill and got up to leave, and she asked me to hang on a second. Then she walked up to me and asked me my name, and I thought “Oh, no. This poor young thing must like older men. She’s going to ask me to come back when she gets off work, or try to find out what hotel I’m staying in. I’m going to have to tell her that I’m married and I can’t see her. I hope it doesn’t upset her too much.”

Anyway, she reached out her hand and said “It was nice to meet you, Mark. Now, go get yourself some sleep.”

It was 6:15 p.m. I walked out indignantly into the late afternoon Savannah heat, flipped on my stylish Panama Jack sunglasses, breathed in the river air and strode confidently back to my hotel. That bed really did feel good.

And if you’re reading this, little miss waitress, I didn’t fall asleep until well past 9.