Fatso

I was walking into Java House in Iowa City. An older woman was walking out of Java House in Iowa City. She held a small bag in her hand. Presumably a pastry.

There was condensation on the glass door. Java House was cold. Iowa City was humid. The older woman started to say something. I prepared for an amicable, Midwestern exchange about the humidity. A smile spread across my lips.

“Thanks for holding the door, fatso,” she said as she walked by me.

My face was frozen in a smile. It took me a moment to register what the woman had said.

Thanks for holding the door, fatso.

***

A couple of things.

First, I typically hold the door for people. I’m not sure why I didn’t hold the door for this woman. The humidity? Maybe it was the Monday morning I’d just experienced. My workflow is increasing. The days left in August are decreasing. I’m a busy person getting busier. This fall is going to be a lot.

Next, I don’t think I’m a fatso. I’m not what the kids might call swoll, but I don’t think I’m the kind of person that people would refer to as a fatso. But who am I to know? If I am a fatso, so be it. I can accept that fate. Of all the things I’d expect an older woman to call me, fatso ranks pretty low on the list.

Third, I’m always ready for a kind encounter with strangers. I’m taken aback when my smile is met with an assault. I don’t know why people lash out at each other. People shouldn’t lash out at each other. It’s funny to me that my reaction to this woman’s assault was to smile. Thankfully, I didn’t lash back. A great man once wrote that we should never knock back when our card houses are knocked down.

It’s me. I’m the great man. Here’s one of the books that tells that story. Here’s another.

I’ve gotten a lot of miles out of my card house story.

***

If I’ve ever called you a fatso, I am sorry. People shouldn’t call other people fatsos.

If I’ve ever failed to hold the door for you, I am sorry. People should hold the door for other people.

If you’ve ever called somebody a fatso because they’ve failed to hold the door open for you, I hope you reconsider how you are moving through the world.

Lastly, kind reader, you are welcome for this blog post. I cannot stop laughing about this woman calling me a fatso, and I hope you laugh too. What a funny thing to call somebody else.

Fatso.