This weekend made me realize something. I like talking to old people.
Story 1: My friends and I went to DT Pali (downtown Palo Alto...yeah, yeah. I know I'm a dork) yesterday night, which was nice after a long week of work. Seriously - these two weeks are the hardest I've worked in my whole graduate career. I no longer have fun-filled weekends X(
Anyway, after a way-too-long ride on the Marguerite we stopped at a tap room off the main road and sat at the empty bar. The bartender was an older guy with a thick Boston accent, who seemed a bit harsh at first. He asked if I wanted a drink.
"I'm okay right now."
"You, know, you shouldn't be shy once you come to this country. You gotta try new things."
"What are you talking 'bout, man? I'm from here..."
I wasn't really offended - it was actually kind of funny that he thought I wasn't from the U.S. He slid a glass of iced water over toward me, and went to the back to take care of something. When he returned, there was still a small cloud of awkwardness, so I sliced right through it and asked him how long he's been here.
"You mean in California?"
"Yeah"
"Shoot. You probably think I'm a foreigner. I've been here for about 14 years, but before that I was lived in Boston, then New Mexico, then - oh wait, I was in Chihuahua, Mexico for a while, too."
His name's Dean. He's Irish-Italian, and he worked for Digital Equipment Corporation (DEC), which was, apparently, really big in the 60's and 70's. He had to travel for work, which is why he lived in all of those places.
Over the next hour and a half, Dean (called "Dino" by his Italian friends) told us how different life was in Mexico - how he always seemed to be outnumbered 8 to 1 by women wherever he went, how he found out compromiso in Spanish means "commitment" instead of "compromise", how his then-girlfriend's brothers beat up someone who was messing with him, and how he one time got stuck driving a young girl home in a region with druglords, but got invited into the girl's parent's home (he called it a dirt box) for dinner.
At this point I ordered a 10 oz. Paulaner. I still don't really drink, but I felt like it was the right thing to do.
Then we started talking about a lot of random things: he told us some wild adventures he had when he was 17 with a fake ID, but then the conversation turned to things like the recent healthcare reform, those big current-driven collections of plastic and garbage in the ocean that affect photosynthesis, tarantulas and big bugs, and French people and beer, to name a few.
"I think I'll have a beer with you guys," he said, and poured himself a glass. The beer was something I'd never heard of (I already forgot the name), so he gave us all a little to sample.
At this point, a huge crowd of younger kids came in so he started to take care of their orders. We finished our drinks, but as we were heading out, he stopped us, asked what our names were, and told us to come back for deals on food and drinks. Overall, it was a pretty chill experience.
Story 2: I stopped by Costco after church today to pick up my weekly Costco chicken. I've been trying to eat less red meat, which I think might be a subconscious reaction to touching cow death all day errday for research. That, and I've come to the realization that it's kinda unhealthy to eat 4 pounds of beef with no veggies every week (which is what I've been doing for the past two quarters).
I hadn't eaten lunch, so I got a Polish dog combo and sat down to eat it by myself. I started to look through some photos I picked up, when a weathered voice said,
"Mind if I sit here? It's hard for me to swing my legs over the benches now"
"No problem."
I was sitting at the end of a table. I slid my stuff to the side to make more room for him, and noticed that he was reading a book on the history of salt.
"That looks pretty interesting."
"You like to read?" He looked at me, but didn't put the book down.
"Yeah, but I'm finding that I don't have as much time to do it anymore. I'm too busy with school and research."
"Heh. I thought you were in high school. But I guess everyone seems like a kid because I'm 75. What are you researching?"
He put the book down.
I told him a little about my projects, and he began to talk about how he used to run, but that the lack of support in shoes back in his day messed up his knees. "By the time you figure out how to heal me, I'll be dead", he said. Then he talked about football, his kids (which actually doesn't bother me), how he swims a lot now, his job in the travel industry, Amazon Kindles, and his love of jazz music. It was interesting to talk with him, but I had to go back to finish my work. I let him know politely.
"I'm Ira, by the way"
"Hey, I'm Ivan. It was really nice talking to you."
I left him there with his book and went out into the pouring rain.
I don't know what it is. I just find it fascinating to see how much life has changed over one generation. It seems like people who are old now have had crazy experiences that I want to have but probably never will. You really can't replace experience with knowledge.
