Later in the evening, when most of the running around is done and tables are finishing up and leaving, I find myself engaged in a conversation with a table.
I never engage my tables in conversation.
It's a rule, my views and opinions are generally so contrary to the norm here that to even slightly allow them voice is to open a world of trouble. Don't argue with the customers. But they're young and they've had some wine and are looking for the distraction of someone elses conversation and they open up to me that it's the first night out for them since returning from abroad.
"Really? Where?" I inquire. It's expected.
He, from Dublin where he celebrated St. Patrick's day. A good party I presume, he confirms it.
She, from Africa, where she worked at an Orphanage.
He introduces her as his girlfriend, I'm not interested but note his slight possessiveness.
I'm interrupted. There are no tables, so to speak of, but I'm called upon again and again to run errands, sort out bills, the things all of us should be able to do as equals, but some of us are more equal than others...
Back at the table, their names. I hate names, I have no memory for names, I only remember those I dislike. Z, he gets everybody's name, the name of their children, grandchildren, parents, he loves that stuff. I hate it.
I remark upon the diverse destinations they've been to - incongruent, his adventures are light, hers more interesting, emotionally engaging. I ask why not together, why this separation, odd, he defends himself, feels, though he's in his early thirties, that he's not ready to see that sort of suffering...maybe when he's in his forties...
Pleasant, but a child. And while I have no interest I have to wonder how she ended up with him.