you can't judge a book by its cover

More years ago than I care to remember, back in the day when people who knew about software programming were a rather elite group, I was in Washington DC to present a design package to my customer. Three of us, my boss, another designer, and myself (the only female in the group) went to the desk at the Springfield Hilton to check in. Our flight from DFW had been delayed more than once due to weather, and we were all quite tired. The other two were making plans for meeting later on to have a drink in the lounge, but I still had to unpack and then use my collapsible traveling iron on the suit I planned to wear at the meeting the next day, and said all I wanted was to go to my room and collapse. Bill checked in, Clancy checked in, and then it was my turn. But just as I approached the desk, the clerk turned around and went to the room back behind the counter. As the elevator doors closed, Bill shouted they’d see me in the morning. And there I stood, tired, far from home, alone, ignored.

Now, I’m not normally short tempered, but my feet were beginning to feel like they’d been hours in a medieval torture device, and when the clerk had not come back in a couple of minutes, I rang the bell. He came out and looked down his nose at me and said “yes?” “I’d like to check in” I said. You should have seen his face. “Oh, I thought you were with one of those guys” he sneered. Several responses immediately came to mind, among them: “oh, yeah, they’d be likely to pick up a hooker wearing these shoes” or “don’t you think if I was with them I’d be gone by now?” or, better yet, “you obviously in your life have been associated with only one type of working girl.” But I said none of those, simply put my gold card and a copy of my room confirmation on the counter, and waited. The word “sorry” never came out of his mouth; for that matter, he didn’t act the least bit recalcitrant for his lapse in customer service, but by then all I cared about was getting a room. Finally, nerves shot, key in hand, I schlepped myself and my one carry-on to a numbered door on the second floor (which by the way was not serviced by the elevator but instead up a loooooong flight of stairs). There were bugs in the bathtub, the temperature of the water in the faucet never got beyond tepid, and when I threw the bedspread on the chair and turned back the blanket found sheets that either had not been changed since three residents ago or were totally beyond the help of even straight Clorox.

But I soldiered on, did what I had to do to get my attire ready for the next day, called the desk and asked for a wakeup, then turned on my travel alarm and set it on the bedside table. Which was a good thing, because the wakeup clerk was also the snotty desk clerk, and he exacted his revenge for my discovery of his shortcomings by not recording my request. (At the time, ironing boards and irons and hair dryers and coffee pots and bedside clocks were not standard in the rooms, so if you’ve read this far, you’ve figured out how many years ago this took place.) The rest of the trip was a success, the customer was happy, making only two minor changes to the proffered design, and three days later we were back in Dallas.

By now you’re asking yourself what’s the point of this blog entry? “There are more things in Heaven and earth, dear Horatio, than are dreamt of in our petty human philosophies.” Sometimes things are so far outside our comfort zone that their existence is hard to reconcile with day to day normal.

Looking across the group of attendees at yesterday’s DeSoto Veterans Day celebration, I realized there were two ladies sitting unaccompanied. During the hour long program the Veterans were never asked to stand for recognition, so I had no idea if the two were wives or Vets or both or simply paying their respects. The program ended, and I quickly made my way across the aisle to the woman closest to me. I discovered from her answer to my well-formed question that she was, indeed, the wife of a Veteran, but also a Vet, herself. I thanked her for her service and got a smile that will warm my heart for at least a week. How many times, I wondered, has she been recognized for her contribution to our freedom and our way of life? From the size of her hug, obviously, not a lot. (The other lady got away before I could get to her, so I do not know her story; maybe next year.)

Flash forward three hours to Champions Cove. Most of the guys there were wearing ball caps that proudly displayed their military affiliation and years of service. I do not wear a ball cap. I was never given one and frankly have not through the years been able to justify the expense of buying something, other than clothes (and SHOES), for myself alone. I do, however, at such events, wear two buttons in my left lapel, both identifying myself as a Vet. But they are both small and hard to read and, besides that, it’s not politically correct to stare at a woman’s chest. One of the residents and I were talking after the movie, and he told me a couple of things about his tour in Vietnam. To give him time to recover from a particularly intense moment, I said, “One of the things I remember most about being in Okinawa is the odor associated with the planes full of babies during the airlift. The smell of human poop is determined by what you eat, and a diet of rice and fish gives definitely different results from one of beef and corn.” He dried his eyes, laughed, and then asked, “You’re a Vet, too?” My confirmation sent us off on another tangent and it was a good five minutes before we ended our conversation and said goodbye, no longer strangers but two people sharing a common, albeit dissimilar, background.

You can't judge a book by its cover, and you can't discern a Vet by the cut of their jeans. With that in mind, on this Veteran's Day, I honor three very important people who helped shape my life. Virginia Lois Galloway Branson. Virginia (Susie) Howton Wilson. Noreen Rose Arao. Thank you. We traveled different roads, together and apart, but our journeys were similar and our destination the same. We're still here, and I am so very, very proud of you. I hope someone else this weekend will thank you for your service, but in case they don't, never doubt that you have my undying gratitude. We few, we largely unrecognized mostly forgotten but still happy few - - thank you, my sisters in arms.