Phoebe Kate

So went the old 60s R&B song (c’mon, you remember that one, it’s a classic and later recorded by the Hollies, Anne Murray and a bunch of others a lot better known than its original singer, Doris Troy.)

The song’s subject was love at first sight, about seeing a certain stranger and ZAP!  ZOWIE!  Cold chills, hot sweats, heart palpitations, weak knees and a loss of good sense and your right mind.  Oh, yeah — it’s heady stuff all right.

Well, yesterday I had that experience — or I should say, I was the object of someone else’s obviously intense emotions.  Only in my case, it wasn’t a mysteriously intriguing and compelling male who looked like Johnny Depp who gazed into my eyes across a crowded room and was instantaneously smitten.

It was a woman, and it definitely wasn’t love she was feeling for me.

The scene of this unpleasant and rather unsettling encounter was the radiation oncology waiting room at a medical center where I take a terminally ill family member (aka The Patient, to respect his privacy) for treatment five days a week.

The waiting room being somewhat crowded, The Patient and I settled ourselves in chairs next to a 70-ish woman conspicuously attired in very expensive designer wear from head to toe.  The moment I sat down, I could sense the vibes coming from her and they were more toxic than chemotherapy drugs.

I took out my book and started reading.

She kept giving me sideways glares that would promptly cause plants to wither, render plums into prunes and turn a cover girl into an old crone in 60 seconds flat.

And then, with a little snort, she gathered up her Prada purse and made a big production out of moving to another seat — from which vantage point she continued to shoot me dagger looks.

Now, FYI, I was washed, brushed, fluffed, deoderized, made up and well-dressed.  I wasn’t reading Do-It-Yourself Terrorism for Dummies or a magazine with vivid color photos of people performing unspeakable acts with underage children and barnyard animals.  There was no reason for this woman’s reaction to me.

This is the first time anything like this has ever happened to me and I’m still reeling.  The waiting room is a friendly place and I’m an affable person.  Everybody there is someone in the midst of perfectly dreadful circumstances, be they patient or caregiver.  That creates an automatic and easy-going camaraderie.  Our shared fate enables us to smile, chat like old buddies and sit in each other’s company with empathetic amiability day after day, week after week.

Except for that woman.

Maybe I reminded her of the daughter-in-law she can’t stand.  The girlfriend that her ex-husband left her for.  A teacher she had in school sixty years ago who gave her a bad grade.  A trusted friend who let her down.

Hell, maybe the lady’s a bona fide mental case.  Your guess is as good as mine.

Just like love at first sight, hate at first sight is a powerful but totally irrational emotion that blinds a person to reality.  A precipitate romance may ultimately result in heartbreak and messy personal situations, but gratuitous ill will does a whole lot worse.  Globally, it’s responsible for wars, pograms, persecutions, violence and injustice.

And in everyday life, it causes people to be just plain rude.  Of course, I’ll never know why that woman behaved the way she did and I feel sorry for anyone who has become so embittered.

But pity notwithstanding, one thing is true.  I really hope she’s not there tomorrow.

– phoebe kate