Being true to yourself...

...sometimes requires quite a bit of artifice.

I just returned from Denny's, where I retreated after finding out the Home Depot had changed its hours and closed two hours earlier than it used to. I'd walked up there to buy a new lock for my door and a bag of plaster for my sculpture--a work in progress for the last 30 years or so.

There was a man there, Black guy, mid-50s or so, my age, very good-looking, cell phone, elbow brace over his jacket sleeve, pack of More menthol cigarettes he had to go outside to smoke, missing his left canine upper, gold wire around his right bicuspid and it flashed when he smiled. He told the waitress some dumb story about a baseball game attended by a bunch of mental patients, and when the peanut man came by and yelled, "PEANUTS!" they all stood up and peed.

I said, "You're lyin'" and smiled, expecting him to admit to the joke. But he looked at me as if to say, "What? How dare you!" and I backpedaled quickly. He claimed the story was gospel and I left it at that.

We talked more. I told him the joke about the two brothers who had decided to start swearing one day because they felt--at the ages of 5 and 7, respectively--that they were men now and it was time to prove it. Big brother says, "Okay, when we go down to breakfast, let's both swear in front of Mommy. I'll say 'hell' and you say 'ass,' okay?"

They went down and Mommy asked big brother, "You want some corn flakes for breakfast today?" And he said, with great indignation, "HELL NO, I WANT CHEERI-OS!" Mommy moved quickly, smacked him upside the head and told him to go stand in the corner, where he ran to, crying. Then she turned her angry glare at the little brother, and asked, "Well, what do YOU want for breakfast?" Little brother said quickly, "I don't know, but you can bet your ASS I'm not gonna ask for Cheeri-os!"

He told me that he had been a cook for many years at the Outback Steak House, making $17 an hour, until one day a kid walked in with an A.A. degree and a certificate awarding him a chef's status. He was hired at $27 an hour and Quentin, the man telling the tale, was let go.

He then enrolled in a cooking program at North Seattle Community College, where he has been for about 18 months. He will graduate with his A.A. degree and chef's certificate at the end of the summer, 2005--if he lasts that long.

His problem is that he has some friction with the male instructor, who, when he is talking to students, is fond of putting his hand on their arms, around their waists, or on their shoulders. Quentin doesn't like this and has told him so. He has several theories as to why the instructor continues to touch him and the other students, but rather than going through channels to deal with Mr. Grabby, instead he's let it affect his achievement in class.

The instructor has countered with a complaint against Quentin, saying he senses aggression in his manner and has complained to the administration. This may affect Quentin's ability to finish the program. He is being called in to the President's office, he says, to have a chat. Seems unlikely he'd be seeing the president over this, but that's what he tells me.

Anyway, I said to Quentin, "If I were you, I'd just walk into the President's office and say this: I want this man to stop putting his HANDS on me. Can you take care of that for me?, and then, after he had agreed, I would shake his hand and leave." I advised him not to engage anyone in any struggles, but simply to state his demands and set his boundaries and leave it up to them to obey.

Why do people waste so much time allowing others to influence how they live their lives? That's not who we are. That's not being true to oneself.

It is hard to be true to yourself these days. It's been hard for a while now. But sometimes being true to yourself only means tuning out those noises that would distract you into being something you are not.

I hope Quentin is true to himself. And I hope he finishes school and gets a job cooking for $27 an hour.