The TV was blaring something about a school shooting when I walked into the waiting room at the car repair shop this morning. The two men already sitting there weren’t watching — one was reading the newspaper, and the other was doing something that involved a legal pad and a pen — and I was approaching the thrilling conclusion of a Wilkie Collins novel.
The remote lay on a table beside the chair where I sat, so I held it up, asked a quick permission and turned the TV off.
Time passed. The man with the legal pad paid for his oil change and headed for the door. “Thanks for turning off Fox,” he said pleasantly, as he closed the door behind him, leaving me wondering if he would have been quite so friendly about my turning off The View.