What was the first capitol of Ohio?

I’ve never been small, even when I was. I’m long. I’m thick. I take up some serious space. Always have, always will. I generally get uncomfortable pretty quick in general-population-type chairs. Theaters, airplanes, university desks, etc. - just not the most comfortable things for me. But they are a normal part of being human in America, so I do my best. But I don’t sit in those chairs for a second more than I need to.

At the Akron Civic Theater, I jumped up faster than the lights could brighten at intermission. I reached my arms up to the ceiling, like any yoga instructor would do, taking a deep breath and stretching out my too-long bent body. Papers brushed my elbow lightly, I turned to see a smiley, older man (60? 65?) standing next to two seated women in the row behind me.

“What’s the first capitol of Ohio?”

Wait, I know this... it’s a trick question because it’s not Columbus. Think, think, think... “Zanesville!” I said with little kid grin.

 

“Nope. That was the second.”

 “Hmmm.... I don’t think I can remember.”

“Chilicothe!”

“Oh yes! Chilicothe! And then Zanesville.”

“What was the third?”

Silly, I know thaaaaat. “Columbus!”

“Nope, Chilicothe again! Then Columbus. What was the only president to be divorced?”

Where is this conversation going? “Gee... I think I learned that once... who?” 

“Ronald Reagan. Who was the first president to live in the white house?”

I should know this. “Not Washington, I know that... was it the tenth president or so?”

“Nope, the second... which is...?”

Finally one I can answer. “Adams!” Please don’t point out that I’m not sure if he’s the one with Quincy or not...

“My son’s a pediatrician...”

And the conversation continued. He told me about his sons and where they went to school, how they chose those schools, and their GPAs. I resisted the urge to tell him mine was higher. (Before you judge me, recall he’s been jovially questioning my intelligence and my inner perfectionist would like a chance at redemption. I consider it a victory that I kept my mouth shut.) He asked me more presidential trivia for which I had almost no correct answers. I looked down to my girlfriends, surely wondering how I got involved in this conversation and how I might get out. Once in a while they would venture a guess, usually incorrect also. I wondered how this would end. I saw no feasible way to smoothly sit down and turn around. I also noticed that this was kind of fun. Then he said,

 

“What do you do?”

Ah yes, I love when people ask me to talk about myself. "I’m a bridge engineer.”

“Oh! So you make bridges?”

“Yeah, kinda. I design them. Sometimes I oversee the construction or inspect them.”

“Wow! Is that hard?”

“No, not really...” Well, yeah kinda, but not really for me... not that it’s easy or anything, I just seem to like it so it’s not that bad... I never know how to answer this question.

 “What bridges did you make?”

Yes, more me. I can answer these questions. “I helped with the Cleveland Innerbelt Bridge and the Cleveland Zoo bridge. A bunch of others, but they’re just boring highway bridges.”

 “Oh, I guess I don’t know anything about bridges. I can’t ask you about that. Who was the youngest president to ever take office?”

More presidential trivia. More of a dismal showing from my memory of fifth grade curriculum. I looked down at his wife, who would not look up at me. She and the older woman on her other side remained silent. They must witness this fiasco every time they’re in a public place. They obviously no longer think it’s funny. I couldn’t seem to make a break in the conversation long enough to involve my friends or his. Finally he said,

"Ask me one now.”

Hallelujah! “What’s the weight of water?”

“I don’t know.”

Good, he’s still smiling. “8.34 pounds per gallon.” Here we go! “What’s the weight of concrete?”

“I don’t know that either.”

“150 pounds per cubic feet. How many feet are in a mile?”

“Uh... Eleven hundred?”

“Close! 5280.” Alright, he’s losing interest. Throw him a softball. “How tall am I?”

“Six foot!”

“Darn close! Five foot eleven and a half!”

And this is how we squandered the entire intermission. I didn’t get another drink and the girls didn’t even stand up. The group of us were so entertained with this extroverted file cabinet of historic trivia! The conversation was so much fun, even though it reminded me of many shortcomings in my elementary education memory!

Then, at the end of the show, I half expected the quizzing to resume and continue until we parted ways on the street. Instead, he swiftly stood up and headed down the stairs. He reached over to brush my arm with his program, still smiling, to signal “goodbye, this was fun!” and that was it. The two women next to him went the opposite way. They were strangers, not his wife and mother in law as I assumed! They were not appreciative of his light-hearted chatter. I almost feel bad that they missed out by keeping to themselves. What a sweet five-ten minute blessing he was to me.

Little blessings are everywhere. Even a man, one row back, with an extensive knowledge of presidential trivia can brighten an already spectacular evening.