Served Cold

I got off to a good start to my week with a clever though imaginary conversation with a H & M (High & Mighty) whom I nearly encountered in, of all places, the fitness center I visit on workdays from about a quarter of four until five in the morning, precisely because at that hour I rarely run into anyone I know.

I saw him nearest an ESPN wall-mounted monitor actually on the cross-trainer that I normally like to be on for Monday mornings so I can catch up on the pictures of weekend sports while listening to Willie Nile and Graham Parker (not that they complement the visuals-I can't imagine ESPN using You Can't Be Too Strong for a weightlifting segment which is about the limits of their creativity) but so I don't have to listen to semi-inane banter masquerading as wit.

But not yesterday, not with H & M pulling on the handles. I met him about twenty years ago when me and my family were still pretty new and didn't know who anyone was so we judged people on who they were, not what they could do for us (which was nothing) and he didn't do much for me then on a citizen committee we both volunteered to serve on and even less as the years went on.

I didn't make eye contact with him and grabbed a machine on the far end and took my glasses so if I inadvertently glanced in that direction all I would see was fuzzy-wuzzies. Some years back, our son had a job he enjoyed very much and at which he was very good (he's actually very good in all of them-he has his Mom's people skills rather than his father's fear of and antipathy towards the rest of the ant farm) and he ended up in the offices of H & M in Norwich showing him and his staff the new devices the company had purchased.

Our son didn't know I knew H & M and I never thought to tell him (we'd be at this all day, every day, if we decided that was a good idea) so he was caught unawares when H & M asked him "are you Bill Kenny's son?" The reward for saying yes was a tight, thin smile and a semi-caustic "I see where you get it from" as the employees nervously laughed.

Yeah, this is a guy who did so well his son went to federal prison for heavy-duty financial shenanigans-and our son was guilty of having my sense of humor? What was it my old man used to say about a sense of humor? Oh yeah, you have to have a sense of intelligence to have one. Thanks for playing.

Didn't engage yesterday but was tempted to wander by and feign surprise (I am very good at it through many years of practice) and do that 'Hail Fellow! Well-Met!' hand jive that I see so many grown-ups do. Social intercourse I've heard it called. Since I don't do tall talk, I can't do small talk.

Meanwhile, we'd exchange light banter about spouses because that's part of the ritual and vacations we haven't taken and then the old reliable, how's the family? Great, I'd say; our boy hasn't been to prison even once-can you say that?
 -bill kenny