A Blue Friday Lunch

Dave and I met for lunch today at The Met.  (Or what is formally known as The Metropolitan Market) While we waited for our sandwiches to be prepared, I couldn't help but notice all the blue and green.  It was EVERYWHERE! There were blue and green cupcakes, blue and green balloons, football shaped cookies with blue twelves on them.  And, of course, the store employees were all sporting Seahawks gear.  

I never dress for these days.  I don't even own a Seahawks shirt.  (Gasp! I know!)  There are some of us out there.  And it's not because I don't want to wish them well.  I'm just a bit indifferent.  If they win, I'm good.  If they lose, I'm still good.  So, I guess what that really means is I'm not a fan.  Dare I admit it though?  Especially today?  Of ALL days?!  The last Blue Friday of 2014!  Two days before the big game!!  Why not?  I'm not the superstitious type. 

As we ate our sandwiches,  and Dave showed me a video of his co-worker urging all of the truck drivers at the Port of Tacoma to honk their horns in unison to show their support for the Hawks, (see what I mean? EVERYWHERE!) I heard a frail voice say, "there's a chair."

When I turned around, I saw an elderly woman directing an old man, by the arm, to one of the empty chairs next to us.  I quickly stood up and offered to help him.  

"I don't want to take your seat from you," he said.

"That's okay.  How about if you sit here, next to us?"

"Right here," he questioned?  "With you?"

He seemed so small, so child-like.

"Sure!" 

"Thanks," he said.  "I can't stand a lot. I get tired and have to sit down."  Convinced, now, that he was welcome, he slowly ambled over, sat down, and began nibbling on a browned apple slice.  Toddler food, I thought.

Once he was settled, his wife gave him the same "wait here" look I used to give my daughters when they were small.  The one I am now using (though often unsuccessfully) on Hattie.  

Since our new table-mate seemed more interested in his apple than he did in conversation, I asked if he and his wife were picking up snacks for Sunday's big game.

"No.  I'm not a fan."

Just like that.  Simple. Direct. And completely without shame or embarrassment.  

"Well, you sure picked the right table," I joked.  Not that he found my comment funny in the least.  So, of course, I continued.

"It's kind of hard not to be, though.  Don't you think?"  

No response.  A sure sign to keep talking.  

"I even saw blue french bread at Safeway this morning.  Who wants to go to a football party and eat blue bread?  It was gross.  It looked like mold!"

He just kept nibbling.  

And then before I could come up with any more clever conversation starters, (say that three times fast) his wife was back to report that she'd found them a table for two.  

So he lumbered off his high-chair, popped the last of his apple slice into his mouth and said, "thanks for helping me out!"  Then he took hold of her hand and, again in toddler-like fashion, followed behind her and around the corner. 

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Go Hawks!