Delft, Netherlands –
The look on the Waitress’ face said it all. Shock and concern.
I didn’t know what had happened behind me, but I could tell it wasn’t good.
I turned around to find Dore standing there, holding her hands to her face.
“What happened?”
“The door hit me in the face!”
“Are you alright?”
“No, the door hit me in the face!”
It was my fault.
Technically, it was an accident. I hadn’t tried to hit her with the door. All I had done was let go of it at an inopportune moment, trying to get the mittens off my hands so that I could signal to the waitress that there were two of us for dinner.
But none of that mattered. It was my fault.
It was not going to be the most pleasant of moods at dinner that night. I was in for a lot of apologizing, explaining, more apologizing, and trying anything I could think of to try and turn the icy glare that Dore was giving me into one at least slightly warmer than the arctic freeze that we had just come in from.
It was our last night in Delft, and it had been bitterly cold the entire stay.
An arctic cold front had blown through the day before our arrival, and the last two mornings we had awoken to fresh snow.
And I was wearing photographer’s mittens. They are this great combination of fingertip-less-gloves with a mitten top that can be pulled back to expose the fingers. It allows me to have my fingers exposed to operate my camera, without taking off my gloves.
Only when I raised my hand to signal how many of us there were using my fingers while coming through the door, all the waitress could see was a big clump of hand.
I needed to get the mitten off to expose my fingers.
This was enough to distract me, and cause me to let go of the door, setting off the chain reaction that would set the mood for the rest of the evening.
Not that it’s an adequate excuse, but I am a guy. I’m not good at this multi-tasking thing. I can only focus on one thing at a time.
And at that particular moment, it happened to be the wrong thing.
Oops…
Sorry…
If only I had a time machine and could roll things back to just before we walked through that door…
Alas, it was not to be. I had ruined the evening, and now had to try and repair the damage.
The food helped a little, but not as much as I had hoped. As has often been the case, the dish I had ordered was delightful, while Dore’s left her disappointed.
This had been the trip of soups. We had been eating soups just about every time we sat down to dinner. The Mushroom soup at Matties. Mustard soup at De Klikspann. Even Pumpkin soup for lunch at Café Soif in the Delftshaven part of Rotterdam. And finally the Dutch Seafood soup here at Spijshuis de Dis. All had been wonderful, and a treat for our taste buds.
It was the Stuffed Mushrooms that Dore had ordered to accompany her soup that left her disappointed.
I don’t remember why Dore hadn’t cared for her mushrooms. I was too busy chowing down on my delightful Stuffed Chicken to remember if she said why.
That and the fact that I was busy apologizing for everything I had done in the past several years that could be perceived as even the slightest of slights. Apparently the door incident had just been the latest of a whole series of hurtful things I had done. Most (if not all) of which I had not even been aware of having done at the time.
After all, I am a guy. I’m a bit of a socially awkward and oblivious geek who isn’t aware of most of the things I do that offend others.
At least until they’re pointed out to me.
Always after I had done them.
When all I can do is grovel and try to explain that, however my actions had been interpreted, it was not what I had intended.
I had been oblivious. My attention was elsewhere.
At least until I let go of the wrong door.
A door with a bad attitude.
At the wrong time.
And…
I think I need to start working on that time machine…
For photos from Delft, click here.
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