We tend to put people in boxes these days, usually appending the description “disorder” to our description itself of them: OCD, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder; ADD, Attention Deficit Disorder; ADHD, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder; BP, Bipolar Disorder (Manic Depressive Disorder); or Borderline Personality Disorder. We are a pretty disordered bunch of folks. I would not be surprised to find that everyone has some kind of disorder. The importance probably lies in the degree.
In this column I want to defend, at least just a little bit, some of us “disorderly” folks. I recently met someone with a very high degree of hyperactivity. I think he would be classified as at least slightly disordered. He did, however, make a lot of folks more comfortable.
He is a tour director. Now some of you may take a dim view of any kind of directed tour, but sometimes they are necessary to get where you want to go. That happened to my daughter, son-in-law, and me recently when we attended the 800th anniversary of the sealing of Magna Carta. Our eligibility to attend came as members of a tour organized by a group. So we had a tour director. His name is Colin. I would almost bet the farm he would be diagnosed as hyperactive. He was terrific at his job.
In addition to the running commentary on history, statistics and anecdotes about what we were seeing and the nerve-wracking job of keeping up with a crowd of wandering tourists, Colin was in constant motion. His efforts to keep a crowd of folks happy was heroic enough for me to want to applaud him.
For example, on our last day in Lincoln, Nora Frances, Vaughan and I were in a little tea shop with Colin. They decided they would like to have tea and scones one more time before leaving. Unfortunately, that particular tea shop had sold out of scones.
Up jumped Colin. He hurried back to the kitchen, had a few quick words with the staff there, excused himself, and tore out of the tea shop. In a few minutes he was back bearing a brown paper bag, which he took to the kitchen.
In a few minutes, voila! Cups of tea and plates of hot scones appeared. Colin had gone out to a neighboring shop, purchased scones, and, with permission, brought them back, so that we could be served where we were.
Another time we were hurrying back to our hotel at what felt like breakneck speed. “Colin,” I asked, “Are we late for something?”
He stopped. “Why, no,” he said. “Actually we are not. Oh, look! There is part of a Roman wall! It’s a good thing you said to slow down. We might have missed it! Do you want to take pictures?”
I could not help thinking that many times, in different situations, Colin would probably be diagnosed as having hyperactivity disorder. He used it well.
The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.
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