any more.
Despite Angie's objection, I insisted on going out without the hairpiece. Angie sat behind the wheel and we drove off. (She had taken over the driving some years back when I almost hit a police car from the back while inadvertently going through a red light.) While on the way to Ronzoni's Italian Grill, I sat beside her with an unclad head. This was a first for me. I had never ventured outdoors without artificial hair since I had had a hairpiece made for me when I turned seventy.
When we arrived at the restaurant, I sauntered through the door feeling greatly uncomfortable. Angie had been right. I felt like an idiot. The server performed her duties in an efficient manner, never saying a thing to acknowledge my state of hairlessness. I was greatly puzzled.
"The server never said a word about my missing hairpiece," I said to Angie on our way home.
"What did you expect?" she responded. "We had never been to the restaurant before?"
"Yes, she had never served us before," I responded. "But still, she should have said something. I did definitely look different."
The following week, I suggested we go to the same restaurant. Something hadn't gone well the first time and I needed to find out why. This time, however, I did wear the hairpiece.
Our server was a different person from the week before. On the way home I commented that the server had not commented about my hairpiece. Angie repeated her statement from the first time. "What did you expect?"
"Well, I surely looked different from the first time, didn't I?" I said.
Angie admitted she know why the servers had not noticed my hairpiece either time.
At home, I phoned my brother. "Tony," I began, "Angie and I went to Ronzoni's. the restaurant you told us about, two weeks in a row. I didn't wear my hairpiece the first time but I did the second. Nobody noticed either time. Both servers who waited on us didn't notice! What was the matter with those people?"
"Are you joking?" he asked.
"No," I responded, "This really happened. Both servers came to our table several times. I'm sure they got a good look!"
There was a long pause. Finally, he said, "I think I know!" I eagerly awaited his next remark.
"The people did notice," he stated. "The reason is this: the servers are trained about people who wear hairpieces. The ones at Ronzoni's were trained to be very polite! They didn't want to embarrass you by telling you they had noticed you were bald the first time and not the second. They were just being polite!"
I was impressed with his explanation and told him so. With only a few words, Tony had solved my problem!
"By the way," he said just before hanging up, "have you considered retiring?"
I decided I should and did. He's a brilliant fellow, my brother; a little younger than me but a lot smarter!
Remembering The
Anniversary
"I should think you'd remember the most important date in our relationship," Wendy murmured, tears forming around the edges of her eyes. "You could have, at least, given me a card."
Ben realized how badly he had hurt his wife. True, he wasn't much for ceremony, but he should have known better. It had been less than a year after he met Wendy that he realized she was the one for him.
Wendy had been a math instructor in the same school where he taught computer science. They began dating, and as they did so, he discovered that she was a no-nonsense observer of holidays just as he was. It was a perfect match. So why was she complaining that he had not remembered their first wedding anniversary.
Women are different, he decided. A part of them says one thing but they really want something else. He was going to learn from this experience and not make the same mistake again.
But habits are strong. Ben would think about June 19 every so often, but most of the time, the date dwelt in the hinterlands of his brain. As the date drew near for his second anniversary, the fact that it wasn't uppermost in his mind alarmed him. To avoid the horrible blunder of the year before he composed a short computer program that would remind him of the date every day from June 1 until the actual anniversary date. He tested the program to make sure it would work.
On June 1, when Ben started his computer, the screen simulated a brilliant explosion of sun-bright lights which quickly turned to a midnight blackness with stars streaking at the speed of light from the inner cores of galaxies to the outer edges of the universe. This spectacle was repeated several times after which the normal start-up procedure took over. Ben smiled There was no way he would experience this panoply and not remember the anniversary.
Day after day the display materialized June 2, June 3, June 4! The program was working splendidly! On the next day, Ben paid less attention to the message. After all, he knew what it was and what it meant. On the next, he paid even less attention. By the time June 10 arrived, Ben was accepting the message as part of the computer's startup procedure.
Then, June 18! It was a Saturday. At the breakfast table, Wendy mentioned that she needed to pick up some things at the supermarket. It was important she do this, she declared. This started a train of thought in Ben's psyche "Why important?" he wondered. The word, important, vibrated like a tuning fork in his being.
Important! Important! Suddenly, he stiffened as if struck by lightening. Tomorrow was indeed important! Tomorrow was June 19! "Fool!" he shouted inwardly to himself. How could he had forgotten the importance of June 19?
He needed to do something and he needed to do it quick! Otherwise, he was going to be in the kind of deep trouble that only a victim of a woman scorned could know!
Wendy had left the house taking the SUV. The only vehicle available was the bicycle. This would work! There was a florist on Sixth Avenue only a couple of blocks away. They sold cards. Ben decided to splurge and purchase a bouquet of flowers as well as a card. He wheeled the bike out of the garage, vaulted to the seat and sped to the shop. Broadly beaming, he stood the bike on its kick stand, hastened to the shop's ornate door and entered. He made his way quickly to the card section.
Where were the anniversary cards? he wondered. Ah, there was the sign! The place was packed. Customers blocked his way. No matter, he bulldozed his way through and began perusing the cards. It was important he select an appropriate card!
Something made him turn toward the figure standing next to him. His eyes met those of the other person. They were familiar and so was the face! "Wendy!?" he managed to stammer as she gasped in like manner, "Ben!?"
How Are The Seats?
My three years of service in the U. S. Army during World War II brought me out of the shell in which I had lived as a child and teenager. I was twenty-three in 1946 when I reentered civilian life.
A character trait that my parents had built into me still survived, however; that of being severely practical. My mind controlled my life far more than my heart did. Getting back to work as soon as possible seemed to be the logical thing to do. After a short stint at the American Locomotive Company, I was fortunate enough to get a job in 1947 at the huge General Electric plant in Schenectady as an Engineer's Assistant. The job did not require a college degree, Though the title sounded impressive, it was a clerical position.
My duties in this job required that I identify renewal parts required by customers for General Electric switches. In this work, I needed to understand and peruse blueprints. I would order copies of these drawings by phone from where they were stored in Building Four. A young woman would answer the phone and I soon learned that her name was Sally. I'd give her the number of the blueprint that I needed. She would make a copy of it using a blueprint copy machine and send it to me by internal General Electric mail.
As time went by, Sally and I became friendly and we engaged in a few moments of amiable chitchat whenever I needed copies of blueprints. Sometimes, when work was slow, I'd order prints I didn't need simply for the pleasure of speaking to her by phone. I liked the sound of her voice and wondered what she looked like. In ordinary conversation, I had learned that she wa
s young, short, thin, and blond haired. I began wondering how I could meet her in person. My newly-acquired feelings of self-confidence did not include the quality of boldness.
One day, I told her that I owned a 1941 maroon Lincoln Zephyr sedan that I was very fond of. She said she'd love to see a picture of it. I didn't own a camera at the time so I drew a sketch of it and sent it to her by internal General Electric mail. The picture you see is a copy the actual sketch that I made. I colored the sketch using crayons.
The next time I phoned, she said she had received the picture and liked it. "The car is very pretty," she said, "but how are the seats?" I took this as a hint that she might accept an invitation for a date and I suggested we have a date so that she could evaluate the seats for herself.
We had our first date in 1949 and we enjoyed meeting each other. It was a pleasant Sunday in June. Magic was in the air. After a few more dates, my heart took over and I popped the question. We agreed to be married after she had turned twenty-one in September that year.
This happened sixty-seven years ago. I was 26, Sally was 21. We became engaged to be married in October, 1949. Sally and I decided we would postpone our honeymoon and put all