Sister, Sister

Posted on | June 27, 2009 |

A couple of days ago my son popped in at dinner time and we decided to get some take-out food from the middle-eastern place around the corner. Kebabs sounded good. We’re really lucky to live in a very diverse area of Boston with lots of ethnic restaurants and shops within walking distance, namely Italian, Japanese, Chinese, Armenian, Greek, Persian and American.  The restaurants come and go.  The Persian place has been there for three or four years but we’d never tried it.  I volunteered to go because the boys were chatting and I needed a bit of a walk anyway.

The menu looked good but inside the place was dark and rather gloomy.  Maroon velvet curtains bracketed  the windows and sheer white ones covered them.  Some effort had been made with the decor—flowery table cloths, leatherette chairs and travel posters of Iran on the wall.  Not my taste but I could appreciate the effort.  But, alas, the rug was filthy and a bit smelly—perhaps business is not as good as it might be.  I contemplated leaving then thought it would be rude and all the food would be cooked, at least, so no problem there.

A nice young woman behind the counter took the order, smiled, then told the man beside her what I wanted.  The grill was right there and he set to work but didn’t so much as glance my way.  I watched as he put our order together and smiled his way but not so much as a glance back.  A young man emerged from the back kitchen, again, no glance my way.  Then another slightly older man came in the front door and he too would not look at me.  Another man came out of the kitchen, also young, but no eye contact, no smile, no greeting.  These men acted as if I were invisible though the woman did not.  It was so very uncomfortable.  I wonder what they feel inside.

Meanwhile, in Iran, millions march so that they can throw the burka off and make eye contact with each other—so men and women can be more equal and free.  Sisters, I’m with you.  Truly.  And maybe the revolution there will cause one in small Persian restaurants here though perhaps I make assumptions about what’s good and right.  It doesn’t seem right that human beings can’t chat with one another, but maybe that’s just me—I like to talk to everybody.  Still, I wish our kebab men well.   They’re just trying to live life their way.

But next time—it’s Japanese for takeout.  Just a happier scene.

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