Sometimes, I just don’t understand people.
Actually, that’s not true.
I don’t understand people a lot of the time.
There were probably about 12, maybe 15, of them outside the restaurant, from toddlers to grandparents.
They were having a grand old time, chatting and hugging, saying they ought to take pictures.
And there were taking up an ungodly amount of space in the parking lot, perfectly positioned to make cars pulling into the restaurant or a row of parking spots go around them.
This, even though there was a place in front, nicely decorated for autumn, where they could have gathered. A couple times, people even broke away from the group for photos … and then they went back to the gaggle in the parking lot.
But it wasn’t that there was a nicer place to hang out before they left that baffled me, it was their seeming obliviousness to it all. Didn’t they realize they were in the way?
Really, though, I shouldn’t have been baffled. After all, Suzi and I have a term for people who can’t get out of their own or everyone else’s way — “buttworthing.” (No, I don’t remember where it came from.)
You know the type — the people who stop short in the middle of a busy sidewalk, or who manage to block a 25-foot-wide hallway even though there are only two or three of them.
It’s like they have no clue of the world around them, and I’ll never understand it.