All I'm Askin'

Story Sent in by Molly:

I was out to dinner with Ben, who had written to me online. He worked for the state with at-risk families, trying to help them find ways to afford, well, basically anything. Some of the stories he told me were heartbreaking, and I gave him lots of credit for jumping into those sorts of trenches on a daily basis.

At dinner, though, something was off. Not two minutes into our conversation, he asked me, "Do you respect me?"

I replied, "Yes. Of course, I do. I'm sorry, did I do something that made it seem like I don't?"

He said, "It's just something that's so important with my job. Mutual respect. I find that being direct about it is the best policy. Do you respect me?"

"Yes. I do."

"Okay."

I thought about asking him the same question, but I wanted off the topic more, so I changed it to the Huskers, as both Ben and I had gone to the University of Nebraska (at the same time, even, although we didn't know each other there), and were both admitted fans.

During our talk about athletics, a waitress came by and took our drink orders. After she went off, Ben turned to me and asked, "Do you still respect me?"

"Yes, Ben. Assume that I do and will continue to respect you."

"How can I assume that? Anything might happen. What if I threw this drink in your face? Would you still respect me, then?"

I rubbed at my temples. "Ben, let's say that for tonight, we both respect each other, okay?"

He said, "You're assuming that I respect you. You haven't even asked me if I do."

I sighed. "Ben, do you respect me?"

He looked up, as if in deep thought, then looked back at me and asked, "Do you respect me?"

"Yes."

"You didn't ask me if I respected you."

"Fine. Do you–"

He interrupted, "Do you respect me?"

So incensed I was at this point, that I raised my voice and replied, "No."

He leaned back in his chair, pulled a $10 bill from his pocket, slammed it on the table, stood, said, "You're all the same," and left me alone there.