An observation occurred in late January of 2021, and it then went from pen to print. It was a surmised story about a real woman nicknamed: Mrs. Schmidt (published 7/26, 2021). Here is the male version that came to light in the same restaurant, at the exact same table, in early November of 2023. Mr. Schmidt sat at his table with his gaze focused out the window of declining daylight at 4:30 PM in a Wisconsin city of no importance. His clothes were broadcasting his blue collar status, and his hands showed the lifetime toil of labor. He sat with his back to most of the patrons as he preferred to be left alone. Soon, his meal would end, and that table that he sat at could then be freed up for a younger, more vibrant couple. Mr. Schmidt did not care. His face was expressionless, except for the physical pain that cast deep furrows into his outer eye channels from a lifetime of cringing. His thinning, grey hair matched the late fall clouds outside, and he neither talked nor smiled. A stoic figure that broadcasts a dictionary of work without the fanfare of material goods. No watch, no jewelry, no haberdashery; only a worn winter coat and pants that framed his presence with silent sadness. Mr. Schmidt was all alone and preferred that stance because somewhere in this man’s existence, death stripped him of companionship. All the money he made during his adult life was for others that were not present at his table. This is an indication that his wife had possibly done something unforgivable. She died before he did. This does not sit well for most men because of their upbringing in a society that implants a male emotionless existence. Happiness is a female trait, and when she leaves, the man is forced to grapple with an empty house and even emptier soul.
Few men adjust, and the rest just patiently wait for death’s decommissioning. Mr. Schmidt finished his meal, paid the bill with an adequate tip, and slowly disappeared into a nighttime of nothingness.
Torked Truth 