Sycamore
Thursday, 7 June 2007.
I was out to lunch in North Carolina with my grandmother and girlfriend, in the midst of a relaxing and beautiful vacation. We decided to go out and wander the riverfront, and stopped at a little cafe, which had outdoor seating nestled in the shade of some trees—a desirable property, since it was a very sunny day.
We were about to order our dishes, and idly we mused, “I wonder what kind of tree that is?” motioning to the nearest tree. It’s broad, waterdrop leaves were familiar, but the name of the tree escaped each of us.
When the waiter came near, we asked him: “Excuse me, but do you know what kind of tree that is?”
When he replied, it was clear he had no idea what he was talking about: “I don’t… Oak? It’s an oak.”
The quietly befuddled waiter turned away quickly, as if from embarrassment, and served water to the next table over. As the tree whispered in the breeze, we whispered to each other our astute observation that the waiter was, in fact, as devoid of knowledge as we were.
Another waiter mentioned something to him quietly, as he rushed back over to the table and shouted, “Sycamore! It’s a sycamore tree.”
We thanked him, and he rushed away as quickly as he came, perhaps still trying to save face. Very skittish and bashful for a waiter, I thought.
“Well, now he knows in case anyone else asks.”
Why do we try to answer questions that we do not know? Is being ignorant of a subject unacceptable?
