A tradition going back to the early days of the company is the Ops/IT lunch. This afternoon we go and grab sandwiches off First Street. One of the conversations today is around unsavory news about some poor behavior by Red Sox fans at Fenway during a home game.
We have a New Englander among us who explains, with regrets, that this is common. There is a crash course in Boston demographics and the conversation quickly turns to the Irish, then Italian quarters of Boston. I am reminded during the conversation of a small story from February 2002 which I’ll jot down here.
Having delayed our honeymoon due to the September 11 attacks, Betty and I finally go to visit family in (South) Boston and Chicago. Upon our departure from Logan International we are questioned by heavily armed National Guard personnel. The Guardswoman and I have a brief conversation.
Guardswoman: Are you carrying anything shop?
Me: Sorry, I don’t understand.
Guardswoman: Anything shop?
Me: I don’t have a shop.
Guardswoman (getting irate): Shop. *Points finger almost into my chest.* SHOP.
Wife (also irate): No, we’re not carrying anything sharp.
Me: *Opens bags quickly.* Sorry about that, no we don’t have anything like that.
Guardswoman: Go on.
I am in a number of ways an ignorant Californian.