“Table for one, please.” At first I hated saying it. For some reason it carries a sense of embarrassment, probably because the waiter or waitress always responds back with, “Oh, just one?” as if it is unthinkable that a person would be dining alone, especially on a weekend. Not to mention all the other patrons coming in couples and groups of friends, looking over at you as if to feel sorry for the poor girl sitting there by herself.
After a short adjustment period where I must admit I felt awkward and slightly embarrassed, I began to rather enjoy my moments alone. I love the company of others and I’m a very social creature, but sometimes it’s refreshing to go out and not worry about forming topics of conversation. How many times in life’s daily grind do we get these precious moments to ourselves to reflect on the day?
There I was enjoying a cup of tea at my table for one, when I saw him approaching. He was tall with light brown eyes and his lips had a devious sort of curve about them. I wouldn’t describe him as handsome, but there was certainly something attractive about him. “Tea on a Saturday night?” he asked with a chuckle. “Yes,” I said, “I know it doesn’t seem very exciting.”
We started into conversation about where I was from and why I was here in Bothwell of all places. “Would you like a real drink?” he asked. I hesitated, “Sure, I guess. Amaretto on the rocks.” I watched him raise his right hand and I watched it come towards me. I quickly realized what was happening and raised my right hand to meet his in the air… in a high-five. “Good choice,” he said. I was taken back for a moment. Did he just high-five me? He turned from the table and walked to the bar to gather our drinks.
The conversation was going quite well. He seemed nice enough, interesting. He was an engineer of some kind and had done a fair amount of travelling across Europe. I said I had done my fair share as well. “What has been your favorite place so far?” he asked. “Berlin, Germany.” I answered. “I love Berlin! I spent a few weeks there with my mate,” he said excitedly. There it was again, his right hand rising into the air across the table for a high five. This is just becoming comical, I thought. I suddenly felt like I was in a Seinfeld episode with a real-life David Putty.
The conversation continued to favorite types of music. He had played in a band with friends for four years at university. “What type of music did you play?” I asked. “Did you ever hear of the Shins?” he replied, “They were our inspiration. That indie-folky sound.” “I really like the Shins,” I said. Oh gees, here it comes again, that right hand rising up and across the table. I’m trying desperately to not buckle over in laughter.
This is unreal. A real-life high-fiver. “I’m sorry I have to meet someone somewhere. Pleasure meeting you,” I said. I grabbed my coat and without even stopping to put it on, I scampered toward the door. I started walking down the hill into the cold, laughing with every step. How do I get so lucky to attract such fine gentlemen? And so there it was, my table for one crashed by a high-fiver.
Dear normal men of the world, please start existing.