It's not that I mean to eavesdrop.
But, if people choose to have conversations within earshot of me, I'm not going to exert much effort to shut them out.
You hear the oddest snippets.
I was at the club (read about that here) over the weekend and caught some dialogue between two college students who share a class.
She was confused about exactly which Latin American country was his homeland. He told her and she was quite surprised because she was certain he was from somewhere else. She was so certain she seemed ready to challenge his story.
The talk turned to eventual careers. She said she used to live somewhere in the South where they had a lot of ethnic restaurants and she had particularly liked one which featured belly dancers. She thought that would be a good business.
At this point, I actually looked at her. She wasn't "ethnic" in the contemporary sense. She was painfully white.
And I wasn't sure if she meant an ethnic restaurant with belly dancers would be a good business or whether belly dancing would be a good business. Either way, it seemed wrong. Can you think of anything sillier than an "ethnic restaurant" run by somebody whose ancestry is Anglo-Saxon? I know, I know! How about an ethnic restaurant run by an Anglo who also belly-dances for customers?
She went from that to her boyfriend's suggestion that she open a restaurant for dogs.
She thought making and marketing dog treats might be ok. Or maybe a restaurant that serves dogs as well as people. By "serving dogs," I don't think she meant on a platter, though that would certainly bring in some customers. I'm thinking Carl Strock.
But, really, she said, having to make breakfast, lunch and dinner for dogs seemed like a lot.
I wanted to interject my own idea at this point. How about a restaurant that serves dogs AND features belly dancing. But I kept quiet.
The young man who was listening to her and occasionally nodding in agreement seemed to be getting twitchy, but that might have been just my projecting.
Soon after the dog restaurant segment, her ride arrived and she told her classmate she'd see him in school.
He seemed relieved as he returned to folding his underwear but, again, that might just be my interpretation.
Irv Dean is the Gazette's city editor. Reach him at dean@dailygazette.com.
