What Was That Like?

Most people, when they look at a group of Harley Davidson riders, see the leather jackets, the patches, the thick-soled boots, and think: trouble. What they miss is the retired colonel next to the school principal, the government contractor across from the small business owner, the ex-marine turned HOG¹ road captain at the far end of the table. These are people who found each other through a shared love of wind therapy on two-wheels. They ride Milwaukee-made machines that cost as much as a small SUV. Outwardly they look like they might rumble.

The thing this specific group, of which I am a member, was about to do was grumble. Over what? Slow service. Twenty of us had rolled into a casino restaurant just south of Gila Bend, AZ looking for the senior discount. We were harmless², but that didn’t mean we did not like to complain.

“It’s taking them forever,” Bob muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Deb, always the peacemaker, interjected conciliatorily, “She’s one person. There’s twenty of us.” She paused, then asked, “Have you ever worked at a restaurant?”

Bob seemed to think about it, then admitted he hadn’t, but a moment later, from the far end of the table, Willie piped up, “I got fired from a restaurant once.”

I turned to look at the tall road captain. “You got fired from a restaurant?” Willie was six foot four, and despite his affability did not look like the kind of person anyone would casually fire.

“Yup,” he said with a brilliant white smile that nicely contrasted his chocolate-colored skin. “Chuck E. Cheese.”

“Wait, what!?” I blurted. “You got fired from Chuck E. Cheese?”

My mind was racing. I was trying to put those two things together. Willie laughed and said with ease, “I sure did.” I could see a twinkle in his eyes. Would I keep asking questions or would I let it go?

I was definitely not going to let that go. Whatever had happened, I sensed from the look on his face this was not a painful or shameful memory. But he was not offering it up. He would only share if I was interested enough to ask about.

So I did.

“What was that like?” I asked. “Getting fired from Chuck E. Cheese?”

Willie glanced at the menu in his hand while he answered. “I got fired for fighting.”

“You got fired for fighting?” I repeated his statement as a question.

“Yeah,” Willie continued to scan the menu, ignoring everyone at the table looking at him. “I was the mouse and some guy thought it would be funny to kick me in the ass.”

“Wait what!?” was on the tip of my tongue but I wasn’t going to say that again. Instead I said, “Okay, hold on. You have to tell us this story. You worked as the Mouse? You were Chuck E. Cheese? Like the Chuck E. Cheese?”

Willie set down his menu and smiled. “Yeah, I was fifteen, but I was big, so even though I was still pretty much a kid, I fit in the suit.”

“And you got in a fight?” I asked.

“Yeah, some guy thought it would be funny to kick me in the ass when I bent over to talk to his kids.” Willie told his story with a huge grin on his face.

“Oh man, what was that like?”

“I took off my costume head, threw it down and wheeled around on the guy,” Willie said, laughing.

“Holy crap — wait, wait — what were the expressions on the kids’ faces?” I was sitting there trying to picture the scene.

Willie let out a belly laugh. “Everyone was like ‘Oh shit!’ I might have been a kid, but I was still taller than that guy. The kids’ eyes got this big around —” Willie made large circles with his fingers over his own eyes and dropped his jaw open in surprise. Everyone at the table laughed, and so did he.

“And the guy?”

“He looked pretty surprised too,” Willie said, “especially when I started to kick the crap out of him. I started pummeling the guy.” He laughed as he mimicked giving the guy a beat down.

“Good lord, you beat up some idiot in front of his kids at Chuck E. Cheese?”

“Yeah.” Willie smiled. “It took a couple of coworkers to get me off of him. They kicked him and his family out, but they fired me.”

Nearly everyone around the table was laughing. Some were shaking their heads muttering, “Willie.” And I was sitting there thinking about something.

“You know the amazing thing about that story, Willie?”

He glanced at me and said, “What?”

I smiled back. “You know there’s someone out there with the other half of that story. Some guy in Tucson whose wife is telling everyone who will listen how her stupid husband ruined their kids’ birthday by getting his ass kicked by a kid in a Chuck E. Cheese costume.”

Willie burst out laughing and the table erupted to join him. Our beleaguered waitress returned to take everyone’s order, but instead of a grumpy bunch of old farts, she found us in good spirits. Even Bob was acting like he was in a good mood.

I think about that meal often - not only because it’s a fond memory, but because it was also the first time I changed my approach to socializing in groups. I think of it as “being interested over being interesting.” Instead of trying to grab the spotlight for myself, I try to shine it on others. Willie had a great story, but he’s not alone. Sometimes, they just need the space to do it. After all, I didn’t tell Willie’s story for him. I created the conditions where he could share it.

The core idea is simple: Instead of looking for ways to impress the people around you, look for opportunities to invite them to share their experience. My two favorite tools are two questions - “Tell me more about that” and “What was that like?”

That’s it. No trick. No system. Just genuine curiosity, and the willingness to follow the conversation where it leads.

There’s someone at your table right now with a story you haven’t heard yet. All they need is someone curious enough to ask.