A Chance Encounter

On the road and headed to a small diner for dinner. I held the door for a family, including a teenage boy who was disabled. The Dad, who was working the wheelchair, was grateful, and the Mom - a big woman - also said thanks.

Not a big deal and not the point of the story that I held the door. Rather, a man came up behind me and said, “very loudly, 

“Holy hell, that’s a fat woman.”

The Mom turned and looked at me and the guy who was a foot behind me and was evidently speaking to me about the woman.

“I don’t know this guy,” I said.

The damage was done. She walked away.

I turned to the guy.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

“Her thighs!” He said. “They were like sides of beef.”

I walked away too.

As luck might have it, I was seated at a booth and next to me was this guy - and his wife - who he was waiting for him.

I didn’t look at him, for obvious reasons, but partway through my meal, he called across to me.

“Where you from?” He asked.

“Buffalo,” I said, reluctantly.

He looked confused.

“Is that a city or a state?” 

Then I knew. He was a little bit slow developmentally.

We chatted all through our meals.

He mows lawns for a living.

He likes meatloaf and corn. (A lot).

He works from sunup to sundown and he hardly ever has any money.

He loves his wife.

And finally, he broached the subject:

“I didn’t mean to scare that woman,” he said. “She was fat. I say dumb things all the time.”

I didn’t know what to do with that information but I was done eating.

I paid my check.

And theirs too.

The meatloaf was cheap.