I am getting touched a lot lately. Keep in mind I am not a touchy person. I don’t touch others and reserve my hugs for close family. I don’t refuse hugs but I never seek them out. I wonder if that makes me more aware of the touches.
It happens at church and that is as it should be. The casual squeeze of the shoulder, the two handed shake, the pat on the back, these are great ways to make people feel like part of the family of God. It is a part of reveling in acceptance.
But what is with these waitresses? I have noticed that in the last year I am suddenly becoming a good luck symbol or something. There is nothing sexual or inappropriate in it but they will pat me on the shoulder repeatedly during dinner and often accompany it with the “honey” that you associate with Flo at the diner.
Years ago I bought a souvenir statue in Hawaii made of black lava rock. It looked like a Polynesian version of the Buddha statues you see around. I think the idea was that you would rub the tummy for luck. I have become an Hawaiian god.
It could be that I am old enough that even the young waitresses look at me as a relic to venerate. It could also be that after all the lockdowns people are needing physical contact. It could be that I talk to them like real human beings instead of servants to get me my grub.
Any way you look at it I am touched.
homo unius libri
Wednesday, March 1, 2023
Opus 2023-056: Touched
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