I'm sitting in a motel lobby, close enough to Charlotte that when I asked the desk clerk about Internet connection she rattled off "dial-up-and-high-speed-in-the-rooms-and-wireless-on-the-first-level" as if it was one word -- but far enough into North Carolina that when a carefully-coiffed woman in her sixties came around the corner and saw what I was doing in my jeans, t-shirt and baseball cap she gasped and caught herself short at "Oh my!"
Regaining her composure and megawatt smile, she explained in an accent thicker than blackstrap molasses and twice as sweet that in "her day women in public places relaxed with their handwork or knitting."
She peered briefly at my screen and said something about really using computers on laps now.
She wasn't appalled or judgemental, but as she sits across the room reading a novel, I feel like a zoological exhibit.
This is a family road trip. In business travel, my hotel choices are always made by distance to actual destination and internet access. For the last few years, I've assumed I am the norm.
I entered the world of newspapers at the tail end of the typewriter era, but could not possibly count the number of computers I've worked on, or purchased, since.
I'm pretty sure that she is the anomaly, not me. But it doesn't feel like it at this moment. I want to tell her that I can still probably crochet and used to cross stitch regularly.
It's bad kharma to scare sweet little ladies in cream colored twin sets.
A loud salesman on a cell phone just buzzed past us taking the homey wooden staircase two steps at a time and spewing language that would make Howard Stern blush. The Lady and I both turned to the noise instinctively.
She caught my eye, smiled and shook her head ever so slightly.
Turns out I'm not that bad after all.



Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs