I eat breakfast at Panera nearly every Saturday morning. I'm usually alone with my coffee, pastry, and either a newspaper or whatever book I happen to be reading at the time.
As much as I try to concentrate on my own business, I just can't seem to drown out the voices at the tables around me.
When John asks, "How was Panera this morning?", what that really means is "So what did you overhear?"
There are frequent feeders like me who are there every Saturday morning. I hear the results of conversations they had the week before...how the meeting went, or how much little Janie liked her birthday party.
A couple weeks ago there was a group of social workers who had recently graduated from KU (my SW alma mater) studying for their licensing exams. I wanted to jump over and offer advice but refrained. I was afraid they would think I was a big fat weirdo for listening so closely to them. My advice would have been to stop studying. It's not a matter of knowing what's on the test as much as it is knowing HOW to take the test. They might have liked to know that but it's too late now.
Some overheard comments are so funny...especially the kids. Moms come to Panera because they like having coffee and a pastry...that's a very "mom" thing to like. Kids...not so much and I'm always impressed with kids who put up with the froo froo breakfast over a egg mcmuffin.
Last Saturday I switched tables for a change of pace. I sat near three tables, all with kids about seven or eight. Here are some comments heard that morning...
"I want to be a teacher when I grow up. What do you want to be?" "I want to dominate the universe."
"I will not stand for this catastrophe." (I'm not sure what the catastrophe was but this seven year old is not going to take it anymore!)
"Mommy, can we please not shop for shoes all day?"
"There's a stinky lady in the bathroom." "Well honey, sometimes that happens in a bathroom." "No mom, she was reallllly stinky." (said with the whiney voice produced by pinching your nose together)
I love my Saturday morning breakfast.
As much as I try to concentrate on my own business, I just can't seem to drown out the voices at the tables around me.
When John asks, "How was Panera this morning?", what that really means is "So what did you overhear?"
There are frequent feeders like me who are there every Saturday morning. I hear the results of conversations they had the week before...how the meeting went, or how much little Janie liked her birthday party.
A couple weeks ago there was a group of social workers who had recently graduated from KU (my SW alma mater) studying for their licensing exams. I wanted to jump over and offer advice but refrained. I was afraid they would think I was a big fat weirdo for listening so closely to them. My advice would have been to stop studying. It's not a matter of knowing what's on the test as much as it is knowing HOW to take the test. They might have liked to know that but it's too late now.
Some overheard comments are so funny...especially the kids. Moms come to Panera because they like having coffee and a pastry...that's a very "mom" thing to like. Kids...not so much and I'm always impressed with kids who put up with the froo froo breakfast over a egg mcmuffin.
Last Saturday I switched tables for a change of pace. I sat near three tables, all with kids about seven or eight. Here are some comments heard that morning...
"I want to be a teacher when I grow up. What do you want to be?" "I want to dominate the universe."
"I will not stand for this catastrophe." (I'm not sure what the catastrophe was but this seven year old is not going to take it anymore!)
"Mommy, can we please not shop for shoes all day?"
"There's a stinky lady in the bathroom." "Well honey, sometimes that happens in a bathroom." "No mom, she was reallllly stinky." (said with the whiney voice produced by pinching your nose together)
I love my Saturday morning breakfast.
12:11 AM
I don't think the social workers would think you were a big fat weirdo. Maybe a weirdo, but definitely not big or fat. You need to have a better self image, girlfriend.
Barrett "Fat Tub of Lard" McLain