I get it. I make people uncomfortable to be around me at times.
My co-workers have gotten used to the gush of tear triggered by a song played over the speakers, a shared memory and for no reason at all (other than I miss my kid). On a side note, I’ve put in a good word with the Big Guy to grant them Saint-hood for putting up with my tears and providing me a “safe”-to-just-BE place to work part-time.
But… The person who really gets the dirty looks and has earned his gold star with the Big Guy is “D”. Every single time we go to a restaurant for a meal, I cry. I’m triggered by the mom holding her daughter who’s catching snowflakes on her tongue, the adorable blue-eyed blonde boy sitting at the next table, the music, a photograph, a this, a that.
And, as if on cue, the waterworks begin moments prior to the waitress approaching our table. They look at me sobbing and then look at him in disgust. Her “how dare you make her cry” thoughts are almost audible. I’ll mention to her that I’m a grieving momma, but it doesn’t matter. She’ll look at me, smile, and (in some cases) sets the bill in front of him in a not-so-gentle fashion.
“Great,” he’ll say, “she thinks I’m an ass for making you cry, too. All these waitresses think I’m an asshole.”
I’ve promised him over and over that I’d get a shirt that reads, “#GrievingMomma Expect random crying.” As a kinda sorta joke, I created that shirt with Zazzle. The model in the pictures doesn’t exactly look like a grieving momma. Heck, she doesn’t look old enough to be a momma yet! Marketing ploy failure. Oh well…
Hopefully this will make our dining experiences a little less uncomfortable for “D”.