I’m really in the wrong profession.
This whole “Stay-At-Home-Mom” thing isn’t very lucrative, and since I obviously have a face or a demeanor that makes every batshitcrazy person on earth feel like they can confess their innermost thoughts to me, maybe I should be a shrink, or a probation officer… or a priest.
Okay, the priest thing is a bit far-fetched–firstly, because I’m a woman, and secondly, because I’m Jewish.
I never thought much of what other people thought of my religious beliefs. Maybe it was because I was born into Judaism. Maybe it was because I grew up in a proverbial melting pot of religions and different ethnicities. Maybe it was because I watched a large amount of Sesame Street in the 1970′s. Whatever the reason, I really believe that a person is defined by their actions, and that is what makes them a good human being. But as I’m getting older, I’m discovering the hard way that more and more people are walking around carrying bigotry and hate in their hearts and their minds. Now that I have brought 3 children into this world, this fact is extremely discouraging.
Today I went out for lunch. This “once common” occurrence when I used to be employed has now become an indulgent novelty, and I was determined to enjoy myself. In hindsight, I should have probably stayed at home.
I’ve always been friendly, and, come to find out, my cute baby is a conversation piece to many people. I’m always happy to oblige… I mean how can you dislike someone standing with you and complimenting your child? I can’t. And it’s usually a pretty welcome part of life as my days are mostly spent without adult interaction, unless you count the bag boy at the supermarket. So, when our waitress started with the small talk I was more than happy to oblige.
“So, my daughter has a 2-year-old. And she wants to have more… but her husband put his foot down and said only after their son is 5.”
Wow, 5? That sounds pretty arbitrary…
“Yeah, I told her, that’s too much of an age difference.”
My first 2 kids are 5 years apart, but to each his own.
“Well, you know what the real problem with her husband is?”
What is that?
“He’s a Jew…” at this point she must have seen the shocked look on our faces and continued. “You know, Jews are notoriously stingy with money.”
Oh are they? Well I’m a Jew.
“Oh but you’re a woman… I don’t know, are lady Jews stingy?”
Shock. Disbelief. Is this chick crazy?
Not to my knowledge, but then again I also don’t think my religious practices or my lady parts have anything to do with how I spend my money.
Can she see this conversation is nuts? She has to know how bizarre this conversation is?
“Well, he makes my daughter work… and pay for daycare too. She can’t stay at home and she can’t even drive his new car.”
I hate to break it to you… Louise, is it? But I don’t think that being a Jew is your son-in-law’s problem. I think the problem is that he is just… a dick.
And there it is. The elephant in the room. Some people are just assholes. And because they are assholes people will take what they lack in their personality and group them together by the whole of their parts. And you know what?
I’m tired of it.
Judge me on me.
Judge me based upon my actions and nothing else.
At that exact moment, what I wanted to do was bitch-slap this lady and scream in her face, “Hey lady, your bigot is showing!” What I wanted to do was talk to her manager and have her fired for being such a judgmental piece of shit. I wanted her to feel as bad as she had made me feel just to show her how shitty it felt.
But that’s not me. That’s anger.
I haven’t been that person in a very long time.
I don’t need you to feel bad so that I can feel better.
I can feel better just by remembering that I am better… better than this whole conversation. Because I can walk away and go back to my life filled with love and poops, laughter and tears, food and wine, stitches and skinned knees, laundry and little bickering voices, and baby belly laughs.
I will have pity in my heart for that woman because she doesn’t know any better. And she’ll never have the pleasure of getting to know me.
I still tipped her 15% because she did take our order, serve our food, refill our drinks and promptly bring us our check. I appreciate the fact that someone else waited on me. There is value in that. Her son-in-law might be the cheapest bastard on the planet, but I am not.
She performed her job.
As for her people skills? She should probably avoid public speaking. Unless it’s for the KKK.
Tonight I’ll read my sons The Butter Battle Book by Dr. Seuss before bed.
And hopefully, if the time ever comes, they too will be able to turn the other cheek–no matter what side of bread you choose to butter.