A crowded restaurant-slash-bar. There is a band in the corner, playing music loud enough to threaten dental work.
An older man is on the bench beside me, waiting. The hostess tells us it will be a 40-minute wait for a table. Then she hands us both beepers.
The older man is quiet. Watching the frenetic insanity of modern life move about.
The patrons are mostly young. It’s a bar. So people are happy. They’re doing what happy people from their generation do. They take selfies for no apparent reason. They snap photos of their food when it arrives. They rapidly thumb away on their screens, largely ignoring the people in their party.
The older man is just taking it all in.
There is a family of three on our bench, also waiting for a table. Mom is talking loudly into a phone via Bluetooth. Dad is fiddling with a smartwatch, maybe playing a game? The kid is wearing massive, padded headphones that swallow his head, listening to tunes, blissing out.
Nearby, a group of young women in heels is huddled together, staring at someone’s phone, laughing at a video, but not conversing. Their phone volume is cranked so high you can almost hear it above the band.
Which is really saying something inasmuch as the band is playing “Truck Yeah” by Tim McGraw. And if this isn’t the worst pop-country song ever written I’ll kiss a grown man’s astrological sign.
The older man finally flashes me a smile. We notice each other amidst the madness. Two humans. Stuck in chaos.
He is missing a few teeth. His nose looks like it’s been broken a few times.
We introduce ourselves. His name is Joseph. He has an iron handshake. His skin is weathered, like he’s been outside a lot. There are tattoos on his forearms and hands.
Joseph says he’s meeting his daughter here. But he feels weird being out in public.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been back in the real world,” Joe explains. “I been away a long time.”
I almost ask Joe where he’s been for so long. But I don’t want to pry.
“Things are so different now,” Joe goes on. “I don’t recognize a thing.”
Joseph says he’s been away for almost 15 years. He left society when he was 53 years old.
“A LOT changed in 15 years,” he says. “Lemme tell ya, brother. Feels like I’m on another planet now. Tried to find a newspaper machine yesterday, and there weren’t none. Only free real-estate magazine boxes. When did we get rid of newspapers?
“And talking computers are everywhere, inside grocery stores, gas pumps, banks, even in your car. Do I really need a TV in the car? Jeez.
“My daughter’s new car even has a feature where the cruise control drives itself. Scary, if you ask me.
“People aren’t as friendly as they were before I went away. It’s like they WANT to fight. Some folks’s downright rude. I remember when everyone talked to each other. But now if you talk to a random person on the street, they look at you like you’re a convict.”
Funny choice of words.
“Everything’s different. Ain’t no paper maps no more. No more checkbooks, no point-and-shoot cameras, no old-school lightbulbs, no car radios, no CD players, no phonebooks. What happened to the world I knew?
“And know what else? I heard they’s gonna quit making pennies. Pennies. You believe that? How are we going to make change?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t feel like I fit in no more.”
I finally break down and ask Joe where he’s been for the last 15 years, even though it’s none of my business.
Joe sighs and eyes the tattoo on his arm. “East Africa,” he says. “I was a missionary.”
And once again, our foolish young American writer is taught the lesson of books and their covers.