Social worker

Growing up I used to ride the city bus in Minneapolis and try to figure out peoples* stories. I had read Louise Fitzhugh*s Harriet the Spy, and was thoroughly enamored.  Harriet was my hero.   Back then there weren*t cell phones and overheard conversations to give me clues.  I rode the bus with absolutely fascinating people with whom I never talked.   Yesterday I ate lunch with two sisters who looked about ten years older than me.  After lunch and this conversation I kept looking at what I was wearing to see what said social worker.  I never did figure it out.

I had never seen her before.

She invited me to sit at her table

In the crowded sandwich shop.

Book in hand

I had figured to go back to the office

And eat.

Joined by her sister,

They planned a fundraising event

For an animal shelter

In South Elgin.

When asked, I said I had an office

In Glen Ellyn.

In a few more sentences

The question came

What do you do?

Oh I*m a therapist

I said.

The woman nodded

I figured a social worker

She said.

Really?  I look like a social worker?

Oh, she said

I*m a retired VA nurse,

You look like a lot of the social workers

I used to work with.

I realized,

In the middle of Panera,

Just how much I prize

Anonymity,

The slide under the radar

In public places.

With this woman

I may as well have worn a sign

On my head.

I*m an Episcopal priest, as well,

I said.

Now that I never would have guessed,

That I never would have guessed.

All three of us

Laughed.