For years I would leave my desk for lunch around 11:45, if not earlier. Meanwhile, 99 percent of the rest of the world headed out at noon sharp. I find it hard to believe everybody spontaneously got hungry at 12 p.m. on the dot.
They'd line up at loud restaurants, circle around for an empty table and then cram five people at a four-person table while the clamor of chatter and clanging utensils filled the are.
When folks would ask me why I didn't go to lunch at noon like everybody else, my answer was always the same: "Too many humans."
But that was years ago when I merely liked to get away from the loud office and claim a picnic table in some quiet spot downtown or on a bench down by the Chattahoochee. Of course, things have changed since those days. Now, well, I really, really don't like to eat around too many humans.
There are things I don't mind doing with large groups of humans, such as building a pyramid or seeing a Jimmy Buffett concert. On second thought, I'd prefer Jimmy drop by and do a solo acoustic show in my backyard without all the humans.
I guess instead of mellowing in my old age, I'm just getting more and more anti-social. That's not to say I don't like my fellow human beings. It's just that I don't want them around me if I can help it.
The latest example of this came on a recent cruise to Cozumel. Granted, with 3,000 people on a ship, that's an awful lot of humans in one spot. However, believe it or not, if you're not hellbent on lying by the pool or jumping in the hot tub, you can find little quiet spots here and there on a cruise ship.
Except at dinner. I enjoy the nice dinners on a cruise ship except for one thing -- humans. I realize humans are going to share the huge dining room, and I actually kind of like the humans who wait on you as they're from other countries and at least act like they're happy to be doing their jobs.
The problem is they like to sit couples together at big tables. On my most recent cruise, we were one of five couples at a table. Of course, the ones next to me were the talkers and were very interested in themselves. They seemed to be convinced that if they talked enough about them
selves, we, too, would be interested in them. No such luck.
Across from us sat the shallow couple. There's one at every one of these multicouple tables. The guy's wife was about as deep as a thimble and kept flashing her diamond rings and saying how she needed another.
Yeah, rocks out of the ground are real important in the grand scheme of life.
Next to my wife sat another couple. I couldn't catch what they were saying because I was distracted by the talking in my left ear and the glare of diamonds in my eyes, but it had something to do with horses. They either raised them, liked them or ate them. I'm not sure.
Though the food was amazing, after two nights I'd had enough.
Even my wife, whom I depend upon to hold up our end of the conversation with annoying couples, had enough. We spent the final two dinners out of the main dining room and eating junk like burgers, pizza and chicken fingers far away from all the humans.
I guess when 10 people at a table is too many humans, you've really gone off the deep end of being anti-social. So be it. It's an awful lot quieter over here.
-- Connect with Chris Johnson at Facebook.com/KudzuKidWriting.