PSA: Today’s blog is one of those completely “random thoughts” posts which I warned about, and which doesn’t really fit anywhere.
Okay, now that I have that out of the way, I want to share an experience I had this week. As happens sometimes in our relationship, I will point out something to my husband, and he looks at me and smiles politely to say “And…So?” Then I explain further, and he says, “Oh” with the same smile except now he nods sideways as his mouth turns slightly downward, but I know he has no idea what point I’m making or why it matters to me.
So, here’s the story. We went to Leavenworth for the first time this week to celebrate our seventh wedding anniversary. We decided to go out to dinner for the first time in a long time to celebrate not just Us, but also Washington State’s recent move into Phase 2, which would allow for 25% capacity for indoor dining at restaurants. Our B & B host recommended Mozart’s, which he described as “the nicest place to get a really great steak.” As we sat alone in a small section of the dining area, we were joined by another couple a few tables over.
We made small talk, which was amazing – after forgetting how much we’ve missed spontaneous conversations with strangers. The wife’s name was Marty (don’t know how I remember that) and they were in from Seattle to escape their two teens for a couple of days; staying at the super luxury Post Hotel nearby. They perused the menu for a time, until finally deciding they were only going to order drinks. They called the server over and asked if it was okay to order cocktails to go, because they’d like to take them back to their room. She said, she didn’t see why not, and asked what they would like to order.
I was a curious observer, and listened in on the following conversation:
Marty: Okay, we’d like one Manhattan and one Old Fashioned.
Server: Sure. Did you want a regular or a perfect Manhattan?
Marty: What’s the difference?
Server: Well, one has the dry vermouth.
Marty: Oh okay…Um… (thinks for a moment) I’ll take a perfect Manhattan.
Server: Great! I’ll have those up for you in just a minute.
I squinted quizzically and, yes – judgmentally, thinking to myself, Wait! She didn’t actually specify the difference between the regular and perfect Manhattan… only that one had dry vermouth-but not which one.
As I munched my bread and salad, I secretly waited to see if either the server or the couple would notice that they still had no idea if their drink would contain dry vermouth, but no one said a thing. She came back in a few minutes with two sealed mason jars, swirling with caramel colored liquid, and a bill. She placed the jars and the vinyl check cover on the table, and simply said, “That’ll be $28,” as she stood by, waiting for them to fill in the gratuity, and provide payment.
You may think I’m a little nutty, and lot nosy- but at this moment I whispered to Mitch “Honey, she just ordered a Perfect Manhattan, but she never asked which one had the dry vermouth,” as if I was observing something amazing. He looked at me as if questioning my lucidity, and said “What?”
Marty pulled out a credit card. The server swiped it on her mobile reader, and printed out their copies, before wishing her brief guests a great night and turning around to come to our table.
After we placed our order. I repeated what I had observed. He didn’t think it was remarkable. I pointed out ad nauseam, “Yes, but she asked specifically the difference between the two versions of the drink she was about to pay fourteen dollars for and never got the answer. What’s more, even though, she responded as though she had the information, she never noticed that she actually did not.” I was fascinated by this, and it led me to ask all kinds of follow up questions.
Did she really even care about the difference? Was it her first Manhattan, and maybe she just liked the name, “Perfect.” Did it ever occur to her or her husband? Like after the first sip, or later on while she was brushing her teeth before bed?
You may wonder why this whole scenario has even taken up one moment of my head space. I’m not exactly sure, except that it reminds me how much words matter. In big ways and small.
I asked myself how many times I personally, or people in general, have not communicated clearly, and what consequence it’s had.
Being in a writing class, has forced me to proofread, and review other people’s work, following a specific format – for the sole purpose of becoming a great editor of my own work. For me, this should carry over to oral conversations, as well. I feel even more determined to pay attention, to make sure my questions are answered, and make sure I provide the feedback I’m being asked for. And, importantly, not to ever be afraid to ask for clarification. Chances are, it will eventually affect something far more important than a cocktail. Cheers!
Bikini Soul 