Marked Safe

I sit down to lunch with a group of friends from work and the conversation begins its usual cycle. I am a first grade teacher so my peers favorite thing to do is complain. 

I actually like my job. I even like the principal and think he does a great job. I find the grumpy administrative assistant endearing and I don’t think the food is that bad. But, I never say that. I am young and new to the school so my opinions wouldn’t be appreciated. I sit and listen quietly eating my ‘preppy’ food as they babble around me. If they ask my opinion, I’ll give it relatively honestly and they respond: “well you’re so sweet,” “wait until you’ve taught as long as I have dear,” “well it is so nice to hear the enthusiasm of youth.” These sound like compliments, or perhaps kind hearted warnings, but they are spoken with the venom of defensiveness and insecurity. But of course I am too young to naive to pick that up so I just nod and smile like the good little white girl I am and keep eating my curry soup. 

The topic of conversation inevitably turns to politics - my favorite thing to listen to conservative middle aged women argue about (insert sarcastic tone here). 

The thing that makes me almost laugh is not their stance on political issues of today. I am almost as conservative as the rest of them. I am not a feminist despite wearing pants to work each day, and I usually vote (dare I say it) republican. 

No the thing that makes me avert my eyes to gain composure, is what they choose to argue about - about politics. 

“Did you see what that senator was wearing? How can he expect anyone to take him seriously?” Asks Maud.

“Oh yes! I was just thinking that the politicians of today are just not as classy as they used to be,” replies Janet. 

“Well do you know what I think?” 

This is asked by Doris. The table immediately silences because Doris is our respected (and token) African American friend. She is the reason that Maud claims she is not racist. The table always agrees with her as not to be taken as … you guessed it, racist. 

“I think that what he said was an affront to women!” 

Now the table is really up in arms. “Yes I was just thinking that!” “It was disgraceful!” A few “Amen’s” are thrown out there with hopeful glances at Doris for approval. 

I make some kind of involuntary noise. A mixture of amusement and frustration. A noise that says ‘I can’t believe we are arguing about this’. And the table goes silent. 

Oh great, now I’ve done it. I have directed the attention to myself. I now have to think of something to say that will pacify them or they will be complaining for weeks that I am a disrespectful little brat. I play it off as a cough and complain I am not feeling well. 

The mother hens explode into action. Half of them snatch tissues from their purse and the other half retrieve germ - x to ward off the evil spirits of COVID. Maude spills hand sanitizer on her self in her rapid attempts to save herself from germs.

I smile and accept these gifts. I almost scold myself for thinking of these ladies as silly, for laughing at them in my mind. 

The conversation then turns to Facebook and all that their kids and grandkids are doing. Janet says her grandson is graduating from middle school. Doris says her granddaughter is deciding on colleges and shows everyone a picture of her beautiful girl. Maud says she was so relieved that her son marked himself safe from the latest severe thunderstorm in Texas. 

He marked himself safe from a thunderstorm? 

“Oh my yes!” “Is he alright?” “My niece is from Texas!” 

They then dive into a debate about Facebook and if it is safe. Most of the ladies love the ‘marked safe’ feature. Some do not appreciate the lewd adds. A few of the more radical thinkers want to abolish ‘the Facebook jail.’ They all appreciate the Facebook news updates.

Then they talk about a school shooting in Indiana and blame violent video games and teen pregnancy. 

Once again I make an involuntary noise. A noise that is a mixture of bewilderment and frustration. A noise that says ‘I cannot believe you are arguing about this!’ The table goes silent. 

Oh great, I’ve done it again. I better be convincing this time.

I clear my throat, cough, and give my most pathetic smile. 

Once again I am thrusted with tissues and offers of a ride home. I gratefully take a cough drop I don’t need and settle back into my chair. 

I almost scold myself for thinking of these ladies as silly. I almost scold myself for judging them in my mind… almost.

But then I don’t. Then I remember last night at 3:30 AM my phone lit up and woke me. I remember reading my screen in a sleepy stupor and then sitting up wide awake. 

I had two notifications.

My news app alerted me that there was an assassination of a prominent member of the South Korean government.

And Facebook notified me that my sister ‘marked herself safe.’

I flipped on the news in a sleepless attempt to make myself aware.

The news anchor with the appalling dress code the ladies were talking about earlier, was covering the story of the assassination and was explaining the repercussions that this violent event would have on an upcoming meeting of government leaders. Tensions were high in the east. All I could think about was my high school history class and how a random prince got shot and that started WWI. And all they thought about was what he was wearing? 

The same apparently misogynistic news anchor then covered a story of a school shooting in Indiana. A gruesome act by a trouble youth. One which my little sister ‘marked herself safe’ from because she lives a town over. I thought about the dozens of school shootings I had heard about happening in an alarmingly more frequent rate. I thought if the lockdown drills that made my students cry. And all those ladies thought about was teen pregnancy and video games? Did they even listen to the story? Do they care?

Children are dead and the craziness of our world hints at World War Three and all you talk about are clothes and the ‘marked safe’ button on Facebook!?

I make another noise. Voluntary this time. But as the room goes silent I do not make an excuse, I just scowl at the floor.

I now think of the sleepless night I had. Nightmare after nightmare of my baby sister covered in blood in a library. My husband forced to enlist and fight a world war in South Korea. My self as a widow among the millions of others whose husbands had been killed by bombs. 

Perhaps I am escalating things a bit quickly in my mind. Perhaps I am PMS and tired from evening of sleepless nightmares. Perhaps I am being hard on these ladies. 

I pop my cough drop and eat my last bites of curry soup. 

Perhaps I will just mark myself safe from WWIII on Facebook.