Monday, 25 March 2019

Friday lunch

A colleague and I had lunch on Friday at a Melbourne restaurant in South Yarra that's a bit of a bloke's club. We knew that when we agreed on the location, as it served our purpose and was convenient for us both, but boy, (and I use that expression deliberately) did we get lunch and a show.

The tables are tight in this establishment, the place was jam-packed (mostly with businessmen) and pressed into the front window was my colleague and me on one small table and a man heading for sixty on his own next to us. I'd overheard him tell the waiter that his dining companion had been caught up with work so would be very late.

We enjoyed a delicious lunch (rabbit and fish) and a glass of Chablis each, but more importantly, we enjoyed proper conversation. I'd been to a symposium on Death and Dying the day before (another post to come on that!) and having both suffered family losses, we picked through some of our own experiences as well as society's attitude to discussing death and responding to grief. We were fully engaged.



Having finished eating, I ordered a mint tea and my colleague, sparkling water - and that's when things quickly went downhill.

I'd happened to notice, without judgement, that our fellow diner had had a couple of beers before his steak and was now onto his second or third red wine. As our tea and water were brought to our table, he said 'Gee, you two are good,' raising his glass to us.

And so began his interjection.

He asked us if we were old friends, and we laughed and said no, new ones. At that, he appeared to be caught off guard, even slightly embarrassed - like we were on a date - but then tried hastily to compose himself and be 'cool with that'. He then asked about our line of work and quickly, the conversation turned to sexual harassment and the inequality of women in the workplace.

Women, he told us, are often the best in their field, like gynaecologists. (Yes, he actually said that.) To give more evidence to his point, he started counting off on his sausage-like-fingers the professionals in his life who were women - his doctor, his accountant... then realised that was it. Awkward.

When we drifted on to sexual harassment, he lent over and banged our table aggressively to make his point that it was not on, almost spilling my tea. It was very disconcerting, but he was completely unaware.

I relayed a story of my younger years in advertising of a male colleague who asked why I recoiled every time he came near me - apparently it wasn't good for his reputation. We ended up making a pact that he wouldn't touch me and I wouldn't cringe. And then, bugger me if old-mate didn't start tapping my shoulder and pawing at my arm!!

Let me hastily add that this was no indication of him favouring me over my very attractive colleague - it was simply that I was within reach.

He even told us that back in the day, his place of employment issued a code of conduct for a Christmas party and he'd decided it was all ridiculous and too hard, so he didn't go.

His position on equality was becoming increasingly confusing. And there was only one way out... gosh, is that the time? We got up and headed to the bar to pay the bill and get the heck outta there.

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