There was a man in the house, and it seemed good. — Picnic, 1955
A boy would come around. They’d compare their travels to Europe, mostly. She was single, he was married. Odd, eh? NOT.
One day, he showed up at lunchtime. With a white sheet blanket and a picnic basket. I sat across the 4-foot-wide hall from her. I watched in awe as he laid the white blanket out in the middle of the hall. And then wine glasses and a sparkling something. Followed by olives and cheese and bread in little containers.
They sat down in the middle of this spot in the hall and began to chat and eat. They clinked glasses to start and, by the end, he was laying on his side with his palm against his head like a 15-year-old boy in a field of love.
They saw me looking at them, but they didn’t seem to care. So I pointed my chair at them, leaned back and just stared. 30 minutes out of my day. But it had to be done. Time well spent? Of course not. But I couldn’t ignore them and I couldn’t leave. They’d win. Something.
They didn’t blink or look or move or ask or think or speak to me or apologize or offer to move to a conference room or..NOTHIN.
I listened to their conversation. He couldn’t travel as much as he liked to anymore, because his wife didn’t like to leave the kids. His wife didn’t like this, she didn’t like that. Picnic gal loved everything and giggled. I shook my head a few times in futile disgust.
They never offered me so much as a bread crumb or an olive pit.
To this day, I have no explanation. How does something like this happen? Why does something like this happen? All I can remotely come up with is that she was the secretary to an HR Director.
Phonmeenal breakdown of the topic, you should write for me too!