How To Talk Your Way Through Pleasanton

Here’s the thing you need to understand about my mother. She has ash-blond, short hair, olive skin, pencil thin eyebrows and is just too friendly. Too talkative. Too neighborly. Too much. I am not sure if Pleasanton gets her.

Let me fill you in on a trip to Target.

“Can I help you find something?” my mom asked a complete stranger.

“Yeah, where are dish towels?” she said.

“In aisle three. Want me to show you?”

“Do you work here?”

“No dear, just noticed you needed help.”

You see what I mean?  Now don’t get me wrong, I love my mother but seriously, sometimes her helpfulness can be exhausting. I’d have thought that weird looks from others and my red face would make her stop talking to strangers, but it only eggs her on.

At church, in my opinion, she goes way overboard greeting people. Last Sunday, I noticed a friend sitting a few rows ahead of us during the service. I nodded hello and thought that was that. But no. As we were lining up for communion, my mother nudged me out of the way, squeezed past five others and practically laid her body across the row of parishioners to shake her hand. 

“Hi, I’m Joan. Stacey’s mom. From St. Louis.”

Confusion twisted on my friend’s face. After she recovered, she said, “Oh yeah, hi.”

By the end of the service, my mother knew more church members than I.

Afterwards, we strolled downtown for lunch and something sweet to eat.  “Let’s find a bakery,” she said.

“Promise me you won’t try to talk to everyone,” I begged.

“Don’t worry,” she said with a smile and a shrug.

Yet despite my warnings, she amped it up like a kid on a sugar fix. At the bakery, she said, “Hi, my name is Joan. I’m from St. Louis. What’s good today?” 

The lady raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes. She said, “Uh, how can I help you?” 

“Those cupcakes look good. How much?”

“Four dollars. Each.”

“That’s kind of high. We’ll take one.”

Back on Main Street, she said, “That was weird. She couldn't care less if I ordered anything or not.”

“I told you. People are too busy to talk. Pace yourself.”

But lunching at was another story. The manager, cheery and vivacious, smiled as we reached the counter. Mom had found a kindred spirit.

            “Hi, I’m visiting from St. Louis.”

            “That’s great. What would you like to order?”

            “Oh, it all sounds delicious. I’ll take the Aunt Amelia’s on Dutch crunch.”

            “Good choice.”

The manager welcomed my mom and engaged her in conversation, asking about the weather in St. Louis and checking to see if she had a safe flight. But now I was getting annoyed.

            “Come on Mom. I am sure she has other things to do. Go sit down.”

            “I like your mom. She’s fun to talk to,” said the manager.

For the next hour, we chatted and laughed over our sandwiches. I went to refill the drinks. “Be right back,” I said. I returned in a couple of minutes but my mother had left our table and was sitting with another mother and daughter combo. Where had they come from?

“Mom, here’s your Coke, “ I said with a sigh as I handed her the drink.

“I want to introduce you to a few ladies I just met.”

We shook hands and the older woman said, “Hi, my name is Kathy. I’m from St. Louis.”

Of course you are!