Out to Lunch

When I was a kid, my mom stayed home with us and my dad worked a regular 9-5. His job involved some travel, and so occasionally he would disappear for a week, off driving the blue highways of Nebraska. During those weeks, my mom would always take us to McDonalds for one meal. We rarely ate at restaurants, and I remember the excitement of these meals. Riding in the car in the evening, looking out at the lights sparkling past our window, headed out into the night with only mom as our guardian. Somehow it felt so exciting. These evenings also felt excitingly naughty, as if Mom was helping us to break the rules. We never went to McDonalds with the whole family. This was something saved for when Dad was away, as if there were something mildly wrong about it. I loved it.

Sadly, I have not saved that thrill for my children. Any day that Dave works late, we go out to eat for one meal. This afternoon the girls and I ate lunch at a French patisserie called Paul. Apparently this bakery has locations all throughout France, from high street corners to train depots. And now they have spread to Shanghai, where the shops are frequented primarily by Westerners looking for a great load of bread or a wonderful pastry.

We sat down to eat at some high stools. The lunch area was small, and only a few stools remained. As we finished our meal, another family sat on those stools. The mother was Caucasian and spoke English to her two girls, both elementary school aged. I didn't know them, and felt no need to speak to them.

As we began to clear away our garbage, L-- asked if I would speak to the woman next to us.

Lynne: No, I don't know her. I don't have anything reason to talk to her.

L-- listened, and looked at the other mom for a moment.

L--: But she's an English Mom. You speak to English Moms.

And the truth is, I had considered striking up a conversation with the woman simply based on the fact that we both clearly speak English. It occurred to me how strange that would be in another city, to begin talking to the person at the table next to you in a McDonalds or a Starbucks. To begin a conversation with them just because you could understand their conversation. But here? As L-- can attest, this is perfectly normal.