Eavesdropper

Photo by Franco Antonio Giovanella on Unsplash

On the day in question, I was in a foul mood. Once again, I was sleep-deprived due to my toddler having caught yet another seasonal bug and coughing and thrashing her way through the night, for the fifth night in a row.

Patience was in short supply. I didn’t know whether I needed a run, a nap, eight coffees or to scream into the pillow for an hour.

Like most young children (and anyone of any age, really) my toddler gets particularly antsy when cooped up and likes to take it out on me. We’d had a slow morning with multiple attempts to leave the house thwarted by snacks, nappies, naps and blunt refusals to comply with any single thing I asked of her. Eventually I decided that before I lost my grip on sanity, we just had to get out, odd socks, unbrushed hair and all.

We followed our feet into town and, on her request, entered a cafe. The town in which we live is friendly enough, in a polite way. Most who live here are forever “plodding along” and “getting there”. It’s safe, which is something I don’t take lightly, or for granted. I recognise what an invaluable privilege that is.

The awareness of the above didn’t help to sweeten my mood on this day, however.

The cafe was fairly busy. We found a free table and ordered a babychino (I struggle to get that word out of my mouth. It’s a bit sickening, isn’t it. I wish I could just ask for warm milk but then she wouldn’t get the Maltesers with it, an integral part of the experience for her. I just need to get over myself sometimes).

My toddler fidgeted and waited for her treats to arrive. I tried to take some deep, slow breaths and keep my mind present, but felt like I wanted to burst out of my skin. Everything felt wrong and yuck and uncomfy.

The group at the next table along were comprised of two men and three women, aged between mid fifties to early seventies. There was a maroon gilet, a quilted jacket and a fleece, there were chinos and striped, collared shirts. They nursed a round of half-pints and G&T’s.

I hadn’t intended to listen in, but as they all spoke at a volume several decibels above average, I didn’t have much choice. Between responding to my toddler’s occasional offerings, I caught snippets such as: “Before Covid I was told I needed cataracts doing”,  “I spoke to a nurse who said sit quietly, then take the medication, then sit quietly again,” and the winsome “If you say anything at all, you’re accused of being a racist…”

The topic turned to digestive health (rank), and someone pronounced the sentence “With his gut, he’s now taking probiotics” as “weeth hees gaaaaht, heees naaahw tayyking pray-bai-OH-tiiiics”.

The babychino (eeehhhh) arrives. My toddler starts crying because they’d run out of Maltesers and provided marshmallows instead. By the time she’d made her peace with the situation, the following conversation unravelled:

“I think it’s criminal that children can’t be free these days. We used to walk to school – an hour, it took! An hour each way!”
“You’d never find that now.”
“I don’t know why. There aren’t any more dodgy types around now than there were then.”
“We got flashed in the park once. We just laughed at the chap, and he left. He was embarrassed that we’d laughed at him. That’s how to handle it.”
“Young folk would claim they had PTSD now!”
“They’d need therapy.”

As I sat there, watching my toddler teaspoon warm milk from one mug to another, I felt my already palpable irritability begin to transform into something akin to anger. Keep it together, I thought. I forced my eyebrows up and unclenched my jaw. Maybe they cope via suppression. Maybe they just aren’t affected by things. Maybe they’ve been fortunate enough to never suffer actual mental disturbance. Be glad nothing worse happened to them.

Next came their views on technology.

“I tell you what I cant stand is phones in schools. Why do children need phones in schools?”
“Judith, phones in schools is a disgrace.”
“They say it’s because they need to take photos of the homework written on the board.”
“I’ll tell you what that is: pure laziness from teachers. They can’t be bothered to type out the homework.”
“Quite! Nowadays, people don’t like paper.”

So much to unpack. Imagine the comments section! The scenario was the perfect canvas for my foul mood to splatter itself all over. I found a sudden insight into what makes some people get lagered up of a weekend and head to their town centre to start a fight with the first person who looks at them funny. I had an urge to refute what they said and put forward a differing perspective.

My toddler beamed up at me as she drained the last of her drink.
“I’m a milk guzzling baby” she informed me proudly. This, combined with one of the group proclaiming: “I can’t find me specs” right as “I can see clearly now” came on over the radio, helped to dampen my fire.

Thankfully, I refrained from following my inflamed feelings (a good reminder that they aren’t always the best or most reliable guide). With a moment’s reflection, I could see that these people weren’t enforcing their opinions on anyone external to their group. Live and let live, you know?

For one, this was just one snap shot of what they seemed to believe. I’m sure it would be possible to find common ground elsewhere. I didn’t know them, but they could be someone I pass in the street and exchange pleasantries with. They could have been at a community event and handed out sweets to my kids and shown them kindness, and I’ve have felt warmth and gratitude towards them. Each person there has their own history, their own family and friends, their own experiences of the world.

It was tempting to allow my anger to misdirect to them, to project an image of all that they are by one tiny slice of representation. I might disagree with what they had said, but it’s hypocritical to judge – I’ve had private conversations with friends in which I’ve expressed opinions that wouldn’t be universally acceptable.

Who hasn’t?

So, I kept my trap shut. I kept my trap shut, my little girl had a nice time out with her mummy, the group had a nice time catching up with each other, I didn’t get myself involved in unnecessary ugliness, the world continued to revolve.

For the best, don’t you think?