“Maybe you women should get a real job.”
The man’s words, slurred from his whiskey, pierced the air above the chatter of an airport bar. His voice grew louder, drawing the attention of surrounding patrons who sensed a spectacle brewing.
In his fifties, with thinning gray hair, he was the type of guy who had an opinion about everything and wasn’t shy about sharing it, especially with strangers. I initially thought he was harmless as he sidled up next to me, already clutching a drink, while I ordered what I anticipated would be the first of many rum and cokes during my six-hour layover in Charlotte.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked, plopping down next to me. I nodded, bracing myself for the conversation. “Where you headed, sweet pea?” His choice of endearment made me cringe slightly, yet I was accustomed to it—after all, I grew up in the South.
“Off to Memphis,” I replied, chewing on an ice cube like the classy individual I am.
“Are you leaving or heading home?” He seemed eager to chat while rattling the ice in his glass to signal for another drink. I could tell where this was going.
I told him I was returning home, and he inquired about my trip. When I mentioned New York City, he asked if I was there on vacation alone. That “alone” part rubbed me the wrong way, but I chose to remain polite. “No, I had a business meeting in Manhattan,” I explained, which seemed to catch him off guard as he eyed me more critically.
“What do you do?” he asked, and I told him I was a writer. He chuckled, asking if I’d authored anything he might have read, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. “I doubt it,” I said, feeling a bit cynical about his tone.
“Parenting blogs. BLEH! Everyone’s writing those nowadays. What good does it do? Who reads them anyway?”
Here’s a tip for conversing with strangers: it’s not very friendly to belittle someone’s profession right after they share it.
I sighed and signaled for another drink, preparing for a long evening. “Well, if you’re genuinely curious,” I replied, “our readers are primarily parents—especially moms, but also dads and caregivers like teachers and nannies. It’s not only about venting frustrations, though that’s a big part of it. Sharing our challenges provides a sense of community, a feeling that we’re not alone in our struggles. Every parent at some point worries about their decisions.”
The bartender, a single mom herself, nodded in agreement as she handed me my drink with a supportive fist-bump.
“I’ve raised three boys,” he shot back. “I never had time to wallow in self-pity over choices. I work for a living. Maybe you women should get a real job.”
At that moment, I should have just walked away, but my patience had evaporated. Today was not the day for silence. I laughed, the kind of laugh that brought tears to my eyes.
“Oh, sweetheart,” I managed between chuckles. “What’s so amusing?” he snapped.
“Oh, you poor thing. I can’t tell if you’re drunk, clueless, or just didn’t hear me. Did you catch that I was in New York for business? I HAVE a job. But even if I didn’t, raising children is absolutely a job. If you doubt that, try hiring a nanny or babysitter who will work for free. You’ve raised three grown sons and you never worried about making the right choices for them? Either that’s a blatant lie, or I feel incredible sympathy for your wife. I want to send her flowers for putting up with your nonsense. Seriously, give me her address. No? Fine, how about chocolate? Come back! Does she like wine?”
I called after him as he retreated, but he didn’t turn back. The bartender then surprised me with a plate of nachos, a complimentary treat that brightened my mood. I chuckled, reflecting on the encounter, while pouring myself another drink before calling my husband. Sometimes, you need to encounter negativity to appreciate the positivity at home.
I often think about that man’s wife and still want to send her flowers.