Eurovision: Come Sit with Me

I was at the Canuto Cafe, a small stone and timber place in the pine hills of San Ambrosio that serves cold beer and the best wild game this side of the Guadalquivir, where I saw it. I've seen it before. I just never took much notice of it.

The Canuto, being a small place, fills quickly. It was a Sunday and the Formula 1 race was about to begin. I was there already an hour and had secured my spot at the bar with my cousin, Juan. There are few tables in the bar-restaurant but there are several more in the front and back terraces. You can't see the race from outside so you come inside and stand.

That was a couple's fate when they entered the cafe. They ordered their drinks and lingered by a spot along the wall with just enough of a ledge to set their glasses and small plate of roasted rabbit.

Which was when it happened. A gentleman at a table all to himself offered the couple a seat. He did not surrender his table. He offered to share it. It did not matter they were complete strangers. Nor did it matter they were from Germany and hardly spoke Spanish.

The couple shuffled unsure of what to do. Was it polite to sit at a table with a stranger and eat in front of him? Was the man later going to seek a favor, a free drink, a renter's fee?

I know those thoughts were going through my head. I once lived in New York. It was for only four years but it was long enough to learn to never trust anybody who offered you something because later they would want something in return. People were not nice to be nice and if they were, well, then they were crazy and should be ignored.

The man insisted through grunts and gestures. The couple finally sat and uttered their "danke." They were clearly uncomfortable but their impromptu host did not seem to notice. He leaned back in his chair, sipped his beer and smoked a cigarette. Notice he did not ask if he could smoke? That was a given: if you don't like it, find another table. He did, though, set his pack of Chesterfields in the center of the table. I had been in Spain long enough to learn that was an open invitation to his tobacco.

The couple eventually did relax some. They did not stay for the whole race but they hung around for most of it and even offered to buy a round.

I watched the encounter in awe. I recalled a half-dozen times I had been offered a seat at an occupied table. I've always declined the invitation. Call it my American pride of ownership. If I can't have all of it, I don't want any of it.

My attitude has since changed. I have no hang-ups about sitting with strangers. I offer a table to share when it's just me sitting there. In some instances I have made new friends and in others we parted ways without saying a word. It's a mutual needs satisfaction: need a place to sit; here's a chair.