Making Friends In A Small World aka 2B1ask1

Prologue:  I'm on travel for work.  Work that I enjoy, with people for whom I have a lot of respect, and with whom I enjoy spending time, doing something that feels like it makes a difference (however small) in the world. This travel has already brought me into contact with some old friends from in and out of work, and I haven't done any of this for a couple of years. I'm extremely grateful to be doing this. (Life's pretty good.)

After a rather satisfying, though fairly long, fairly high-stakes day, my colleagues and I pick a spot and have dinner together.  We duck in out of the cold and await our turn at the restaurant's host stand.  The fellow in front of us asks for a table for one.

Side note: When traveling alone, I'd ask this fellow if he's interested in sharing a table.  I'm fine eating dinner alone, but making a new friend is better.  Even if we don't end up as friends, I'd still do this.  I would.  Really. I've seen me.
He might say "no," and that's fine too.  I'd be no worse off than before, but in this case, I'm not dining alone, and I know that some people consider this behavior weird or disconcerting, so I keep quiet.

As I'm going through the contents of that side note in my head, one of my colleagues says to the other, "He just asked for a table for one.  We should invite him to join us."  There's little further discussion among our group.  Colleague 1 speaks to this fellow and the hostess.

The fellow accepts our offer and the four of us follow the hostess to a table, take our seats, and begin the introductions.  WARNING: Henceforth this true story proves that truth is most certainly stranger than fiction, or at the very least, that it is indeed a small world.

I look over the menu and spot a dish that looks amazingly like a dish I've only ever seen on a menu in a tiny little restaurant in tiny Tirrenia, Italy.  I don't speak Italian, but I know some Spanish, and since they're both Latin-based, I assume it's a giant pile of seafood, mostly still in original shells, and I'm pretty sure I want it. Sure, it brings back wonderful memories. Sure, it sounds delicious.  Sure, it'll go great with a local brew, but I decide to order SOLELY to be supportive of my colleagues' paleo diets.  Except for the bread.  I'm gonna eat all the bread. No, that's not entirely true.  Our new friend, who, like me, is not on the paleo diet, offers to help me eat the bread so my colleagues aren't tempted by it.

We've already formed a bond.

The introduction/speed dating conversation with our new friend continues.  We discuss the significance of the DC area to the Free Masons, American History, politics, religion, healthcare, service before self, kids...pretty much everything we're told people should never discuss, and from my selfish perspective, this is among the top ten dinners I've ever had with folks outside my family or close circle of friends. (and my meal and beer are excellent!)

As dinner continues, (and for the sake of brevity, I'll use bullets rather than prose) we discover that this dude

• probably worked with colleague 2's dad
• worked for the guy who is currently our CEO
• is a member of, and is in the DC area for a meeting of a fraternal organization
• formed his own group within this organization based on a historical figure with whom colleague 1 is strangely familiar (this part of the story is way more fun than brevity allows)
• has a son who was in, and now works for the national headquarters of my fraternity
• has a son who thus probably works with my former fraternity advisor

I don't remember now if it was the fraternity talk, or if it was the fact that both of my colleagues were Navy folk, that led to the discovery that colleague 2 served with one of my fraternity brothers. (I've worked with this woman for four years and only discovered this because we invited this stranger to dinner with us.)

I also don't remember if we actually solved ALL of the world's problems, or if we just solved the bigger ones and vowed to email each other about the rest. (you'll know soon enough) Until then, suffice it to say:  life is good...if you choose to make it so.

We paid our tabs and headed back out into the winter.  He headed for his hotel, and we; ours.  I still needed 4,000 steps to make my quota for the day, and we all had work to finish up. (and then I was compelled to write this)

There are people who would say we took a "risk" inviting this guy to join us.  If you subscribe to the co-opting of our language that formal "Risk Managers" use, then we did.  We risked being rejected, but according to the definition of "risk" I grew up with, there was none.  My belly would still be full.  My per diem would still be shot, and the evening would still have ended pretty much like one would expect. Through our "risk," we made a new friend, a story we'll remember far longer than just the dinner would have created, and we've expanded our network through which we may still bring about world peace.

Risk THAT!
Luth,
Out