Maybe I Should Have Been A Priest

except I'm not Catholic and I'm not male. Or maybe I should have been a psychiatrist, except remember, I don't do the medical stuff real well. Like I've said before, nobody has a whole lot of confidence in a doctor who has to lay down in order to remain conscious enough to treat you.

The reason I'm saying this is, people tell me things. No, I don't mean psychicly, which would be weird and kind of cool, and I don't mean friends tell me stuff - they do and that's perfectly normal. No, I mean complete and total strangers are constantly telling me things I don't want to know and, really they SHOULDN'T be telling me in the first place.

Take for example the checker at a local grocery store who, for whatever reason, felt compelled to tell me in graphic detail all about her "female surgery". I'm telling you, this poor woman got so descriptive and detailed I wouldn't have been at all surprised if she'd whipped out some visual aids, and a couple of lab reports. Me? I was busy trying to figure out if I could climb up on the conveyor belt thingy to lie down.

Or, the car-hop at the local drive-in who excitedly told me how she JUST THIS MINUTE got finished cleaning up the kitchen after one of the cooks had sliced a MAJOR ARTERY and had sprayed blood all OVER the walls and EVERYWHERE.

The manager of this particular drive-in is this waitress' son and his parting words to her as he careened out of the parking lot, taking the cook to the ER, were, "Make sure you wear gloves...he doesn't THINK he's got anything (meaning AIDS or Hepatitis, or God Only Knows), but he's not SURE". This is her SON telling her to clean up possibly toxic and life threatening bodily fluids?? Uh huh..well, I believe I'd be making an appointment to have my Will changed, if I were her, but I tend to be a bad sport like that.

An older woman, once sat at my desk (this was during my working lifetime) and told me step-by-gruesome step all about her recent face lift, complete with descriptions of the doctor peeling back the area under her eyes and scraping the "chicken fat" out. I never heard the rest of the story, since right about then I bolted for the ladies room and stayed there, fully clothed, sitting on the toilet with my head between my knees for a good 15 minutes.

I can say I come by this "gift" honestly. I remember my Mother was always being waylaid by people who wanted to confide their latest drama/trauma/tragedy to her. In fact, I have a friend who used to call me up, tell me her latest problem and ask me to tell my mother about it and ask for her advice. Now THAT'S some powerful JUJU right there...having somebody ask for your advice through a messenger. Almost like your powers are too awesome to be witnessed in person and should only be accessed through an intermediary.

I'm not usually asked for advice..I'm more of a sounding board or a confessional, and that's a good thing, since my advice tends to be of the "Nobody gets out alive" variety. My mother gave WONDERFUL, actually helpful advice and if people took her advice, their problems usually worked out. I live in fear that if anyone ever takes MY advice, I'll be called to testify in a trial in the near future.

Anyway, it's not easy living with someone who inspires spontaneous confessions and heart-to-hearts. Now, Roger will freely admit one of the main reasons he married me was because he's a shy person and figured, rightly so, if he was with ME, he'd pretty much never have to say another word in his entire life.

The only fly in THIS ointment is, apparently, this particular "gift" tends to rub off on people near and dear to the "Gifted One". We were sitting in a Pizza Inn the other night and a man, sitting in a booth, eating by himself (that right there just breaks my HEART - it always does, they may WANT to be alone, but I can't help but feel they're horribly lonely, lost souls without a friend in the world), but I digress...anyway, this man looks over at Roger, who's wearing a Band Booster shirt (band sucks, but that's another rant for another time) and this man, this complete stranger, proceeds to ask Roger if he's a teacher, and goes on to tell him of his high regard for teaching and teachers and the state of education in general.

At first I was a little worried for Roger. He IS shy, and talking to strangers is alot like Hell on Earth to him. Now, to ME, Hell is a roomful of people and nobody's saying ANYTHING. Again, probably another reason our marriage has been so successful. No fighting over who gets to talk.

But, I guess after years of seeing people spontaneously tell me things they wouldn't even tell their best friends, Roger's picked up the Art of Conversation, or at least the Art of LOOKING Like You're Interested, While Scoping Out The Nearest Method Of Escape. He nicely chatted with the man for a few minutes, and, the man, seeming happier and satisfied with their little chat, continued to eat his pizza in happy silence.

I truly have no idea why people feel compelled to confide in me. My mother, who, it's becoming clear, should have been granted Sainthood eons ago...at least it's clear to ME, anyway - Mother always used to say that everyone needed someone to talk to and, as pitiful as it is, to SOME people, we might be all they have. A friend once told me I was just so APPROACHABLE and easy to talk to.

Huh...so this is sort of like a Mission, I guess. Well, you know what? I can do that. I can listen politely and make encouraging nods and sypathetic comments, and even refrain from giving advice that's liable to lead to an unfortunate incarceration. I can do all that fairly easily...I just need to get better at figuring out ways to lie down if the talk is of the medical/gory variety.

Passing out cold DOES tend to put an end to those little chatty exchanges, though.