First Impressions

I read something on Facebook the other day that reminded me of a lesson I learned about how easily one can be  can be deceived by a combination of prejudice and first impressions.  I've told this story many times.  I honestly try to remind myself of its lesson regularly.  I don't think I have ever written about it.  So, in the category of a new experiment, let's see what happens when I try to tell a story about an actual event that happened many years ago...

It was the summer of 1985. I had been working as a programmer at IBM for roughly a year.  I was on my first official business trip and had just arrived in San Francisco to attend the SIG-GRAPH computer graphics conference.  In reality, this trip was more of a reward for working hard than a real business need, but in any case I found myself checking into the 5-star Fairmont Hotel at the top of Nob hill. It was  late in the afternoon and since my body was still on New York time,  I was ready for an early dinner.  After checking in, and unpacking my things, I grabbed a book and headed to the hotel restaurant.  It was a very famous restaurant at that time but I have long since forgotten the name.  I do remember it was located down a elegant staircase from the exquisite main lobby.

Since it was early and probably a weekday, the restaurant was nearly empty. The maitre d'hotel met me at the entrance and escorted me through an expansive dining area where the beautiful chandeliers and the stunning decor almost made it feel like Cinderella could make an appearance at any minute. This was certainly a very high end restaurant.  I was shown to a table that was quite close to where the only other patrons were seated. Our three tables were located at the corners of a small triangle in the center of the dining area which I imagined was to simplify the waiter's job.  To my left was a flamboyant middle aged man eating by himself and to my right there was a small family who I eventually deduced to be a grandmother, her daughter and two young grandchildren.

I sat down and, as the head-waiter placed the cloth napkin on my lap, I considered these people at the other tables. The man eating alone was dressed in a flashy light blue suit.  He wore ornate eye glasses and earrings.  He had rings on his fingers and perhaps some bracelets on his wrist.  I am not proud of my bigoted reaction, but I immediately thought to myself, that this must be a gay man, and I was of course going to have to expect this in San Francisco.  In my mind I chastised the man for his lifestyle and wondered why it was that I needed to be exposed to such a unacceptable character in such a wonderful restaurant.

After the waiter came by and took my order, I considered the group at the other table.  They were all dressed very nicely.  They spoke in low tones, but given the proximity were easily overheard.  The children, perhaps seven or eight years of age seemed very well behaved.  My conclusion was that this was a nice family and, on their behalf, I again allowed my thoughts to chastise the man eating alone for the lifestyle I unilaterally ascribed to him.

As I waited for my meal I looked at the pages of the book I had with me.  It was convenient to not have to make eye contact with my presumed gay dinner companion and as I pretended to read I was able to inconspicuously eavesdrop on the family conversation to my right. They were sharing stories of their adventures in San Francisco, this lunch being the climax. It was clear that for some unstated reason it had been a special day together.  The mother and grandmother where discussing how beautiful things had been and commenting on the great meal they were finishing.  The children asked when they could come to the restaurant again.  The mother turned to them and explained that this was a special day and the restaurant was special treat, but it was much too expensive to do again anytime soon.

In my young, naive mind the contrast of my fellow restaurant patrons seemed significant.  I believed I was sitting between polar opposites.  On the one side a beautiful, loving family out for a special day and on the other a person with questionable moral fiber.

It was about this time that the waiter came over to the family and asked if there was anything else they would like.  The grandmother told him that they were finished, that they appreciated the wonderful service and his attention to their enjoyment of the meal.  In a sincere voice, he replied that he was very happy to have served them.  The grandmother then asked that he bring the check.  I was watching the profile of the waiter's face and I noticed a grin begin to curl the corner of his mouth.  He said, I'm sorry ma'am, but I am not able to do that.  The grandmother, clearly befuddled by this response asked why, was there some problem?  The waiter, maintaining an air of resolute dignity but clearly enjoying the situation, told the grandmother that check had been taken care of.  She looked completely confused by the response.  She looked over at me, but I continued pretending to read my book, then over to the other man who was paying no attention as he was finishing signing his check, gathering his belongings and preparing to leave.

She looked back to the waiter and recovering her matronly  presence, said that this would not be acceptable, it was too gracious and she would at least like to properly thank her benefactor.  The waiter said that he could not say who had taken care of the check, but it was completely handled and he wished her and her family a pleasant day.  As he walked away I could see that he was deeply sharing in the joy of the moment.

The mother and grandmother sat for a moment in silence looking at each other.  At this point the man I had been so critical of, a man I knew nothing about other than his choice of clothes and jewelry, a man I had prejudged without the slightest tinge of guilt,  got up from his chair and walk toward the exit.  As he passed the table with the family he simply said, in a voice just above a whisper,  "I hope you have an opportunity to come here again very soon." He smiled at the children and continued to walk out of the restaurant, disappearing up the grand staircase.

The grandmother and her daughter sat completely stunned.  It was clear that this was the person who had paid for the family's meal.  I too was surprised and confused as I tried to sort out the sudden twist in the reality of the situation.  I began to realize the error I had made in my thoughts and attitude toward someone I knew nothing about. I recognized my bigotry and felt ashamed.  The grandmother flagged down the waiter and asked if that was their benefactor and who he was.  The waiter's  broad smile answered the first question, but his only reply was that he was asked not to provide any further details.  This requirement for anonymity added to my new found esteem for the stranger.  The ladies and the children got up from their table, excitedly talking about the kindness and generosity of the stranger; postulating that maybe it had been someone famous.

I was now the alone in the restaurant.  I realized that I had witnessed one of the most classy random acts of kindness I had ever seen.  Perhaps more importantly, I realized that I had just been given valuable lesson.  A lesson about prejudging people I do not know.

The events in that restaurant almost 30 years ago, still come back to me when I travel and eat alone.  The mysterious gentleman did more than make a day brighter for a family, he taught an important lesson to a impressionable young man who was just beginning his career.  I often wonder if that had been part of the plan.