Right after Thanksgiving weekend Richie, my friend from up the street, came over to watch Monday Night Football. It's been a great season so far. After another sensational second half comeback the day before, Peyton Manning and the Colts were still undefeated, and we wanted to see how the other undefeated team, the New Orleans Saints, would do against the New England Patriots in the Monday night spotlight. The Saints did just fine, and we knew they would give the Colts a fight if they happen to meet at the end of the season.
But at halftime it isn't the Saints that Richie wants to talk about.Instead he begins telling me about what happened that Saturday night when he and Noelle went out to dinner. I turn the TV sound down and settle back to listen to Richie's latest adventure.
"So there we were," Richie says, "munching on tortilla chips and salsa and waiting for our food, and Noelle starts telling me about the book she's reading, the latest in a long, long line of romance novels. We have an unspoken agreement. I listen to her talk about the romance stories and she listens to me talk about sports. Sometimes at the same time.
But Saturday night I let Noelle do most of the talking. She's so cute when she's in the middle of a romance novel and excited about what's going to happen to the heroine, and she asks me what I think is going to happen to the heroine, and I'm like 'I don't know, but maybe this or that, and she deserves a happy ending,' and Noelle is like 'Of course she deserves a happy ending.'
"And just then, in the middle of the happy ending discussion, this couple sits down at the table next to ours, just to the side. Noelle checks them out, without staring, and so do I. They look like young professionals, maybe in their late 20s. Well dressed, well groomed, and a little nervous. Noelle looks at me and mouths the words 'First date.' Noelle forgets all about her romance novel and we stop talking and eat our tortilla chips as quietly as possible so we can listen in on the conversation at the next table. It's a game we play. No shame.
"Part of the game is that Noelle takes out a pen and begins writing notes to me on napkins. Things like 'Does she like him?' and then 'He likes himself.' I don't write notes, I just nod and agree with Noelle, most of the time.
"All the tables in our section have tortilla chips, and there's a steady chorus of chomping going on, but the guy is loud enough that we can hear every word. He's doing most of the talking, mostly about his job, and the woman is leaning forward a bit and showing him she's a good listener. The guy's job is not too interesting, except to him, but she's hanging in there as he goes on about it. So far.
"The guy's talking about a problem at his officeand he says, 'It is what it is.' And then he begins telling her about another problem at the office and he goes, 'It is what it is.' The third time he says 'It is what it is,' I notice the woman leaning back, her brave smile disappearing. The fourth time he says 'It is what it is,' she cringes. Her hands, resting on the edge of the table, begin to tense up.
"Noelle writes on the napkin, 'Trouble.' I nod and reach for a tortilla chip. Then the guy does a surprising thing. He stops and asks her about her job. He lets her talk for about 20 seconds and then he interrupts with 'That reminds me of this problem we have at my office,' and he's off again. The guy pauses just for a second to grab a handful of chips, and the woman leans forward and says, 'Well, it is what it is.' The guy totally misses the sarcasm and continues his boring office story.
"Then we notice that the woman is writing on a napkin. We can't see what she's writing, but then she holds the napkin in her hand to read it and says to the guy, 'Is it, what is it?' The guy gives her a funny look and she repeats the question, 'Is it, what is it?' This time he ignores her and goes on talking about his office. Noelle writes the woman's words on her napkin, and then writes them in reverse order, so it reads 'It is what it is,' and below that Noelle writes, in big capital letters, 'BRILLIANT!'
"Our food arrives about then, and we kind of tune out the guy at the next table. Noelle writes again and shows me the napkin. 'First date and last date,' it says. I nod and smile at Noelle, who is so good at this listen-to-the-strangers game. I'm thinking the game is over and we can just enjoy our dinner. But I'm wrong.
"The guy at the next table appears to be winding down, running out of office problems to talk about, and he's summing up (thank God!). 'But you know,' he says to his date, 'at the end of the day ...' I look at Noelle. I know this is one of her pet peeves. She looks at me, with that devilish grin of hers. She writes quickly on the napkin, 'Here we go again.'
"Now every other sentence from the guy is beginning with 'at the end of the day.' I lose count, but somewhere between a painful half a dozen 'at-the-end-of-the-days' and an unbearable full dozen, the woman does an amazing and wonderful thing. She stands up, stares at her boring date, and says, loud enough for everyone in our section to hear, 'It gets dark! It gets dark!' The guy is like 'What? What are you talking about?
"The woman doesn't answer at first. She looks at her watch. Noelle told me later that the woman looked at her watch because she was deciding whether she had any more time to waste on this guy. So the woman takes a deep breath and tells the guy, slowly and enunciating each word so he will get it, finally, maybe, 'At the end of the day ... it gets dark!'
"Then she picks up her bag and walks away, straight to the front door, accompanied by applause from Noelle, and myself, and a bunch of other people who have been listening to all this. The guy has a kind of shocked look. Then he shakes his head and goes back to eating his dinner. He doesn't talk to himself, for which we are grateful."
"Good story," I tell Richie.
"It is what it is," Richie says. Then he ducks because I begin throwing popcorn at him.
