Never judge a book by its cover and never judge a man by his vest.
Recently, I walked into our local gas station to find a gaggle of men scattered around the store, all wearing bright orange fluorescent vests. My interest piqued, I looked around to see what kind of vehicle they arrived in.

Seeing a 12-passenger van sitting at the gas pump, I began wondering about where they came from and just who they were. Trash collectors carpooling home from work? Highway workers on a dinner break? Local jailbirds out on work release? It was anyone’s guess, but it was when they began to talk that my scope narrowed.
One of the tattoo-covered men looked at me from over the candy aisle and gave me a very warm greeting with an equally long stare. “Hi, how are you doin’?” was a dead giveaway, in my book. Who greets strange women in a convenience store? That kind of greeting was normal for a neighbor or a familiar face – but not a total stranger.

Immediately I knew exactly which of my guesses was correct. My suspicions were confirmed as I eyed their plethora of tattoos and five o‘clock shadow-covered faces. They were convicts, all right. Convicts who must have worked hard enough throughout the day to warrant stopping for a snack and a pop.

Curiosity got the best of me as I opened my mouth and before I knew it, I was standing in the middle of the store blurting out to anyone who would answer me, “So, are you guys a bunch of prisoners out on work release?”

What was I thinking? Obviously, I wasn’t. What woman stands in the middle of a bunch of convicts and starts asking questions?
The kind who can’t keep her mouth shut.

One answered back, “Yep.”

My eyes widened and I know my mouth dropped open. What now? Should I run to the bathroom? Walk quietly to my truck and lock the doors? Or just act smooth and ignore the fact that I was in a store with a bunch of convicted criminals?

Walking around the store I noticed the constant stare of one man and I knew eye contact would invite more unwanted conversation. I continued to shop and got in line behind one of the men, who was cleaner-cut with the least number of tattoos. He was young with a Mohawk haircut, and seemed harmless.

Again, my fascination with a part of society I rarely come into contact with got the best of me, and I began my investigation as if I had a reporter’s pad in my hand, working on a breaking story. “So, you guys out working on a job today?”

“Yep.”

I couldn’t help myself; I just had to keep asking questions.
“How often do you guys get out to work during the day?”
Then came the answer that made me wish I could keep my mouth shut every once in a while: “Ma’am, we’re not really prisoners, we’re working on the gas wells in the area. We’ve been working for quite a while down here. Most of us are from up north.”

“Seriously? For heaven’s sake, I’m so sorry!”

For crying out loud, why am I always the fool? As I slinked out of the store and got in my pickup, I realized I totally misjudged these hardworking men. Here they were, working long hours, miles from home, haven’t seen their families in days – and because of their dirty faces, tattoos and orange vests I assumed they were the dregs of society, the lawbreakers, convicted criminals.

I re-learned two lessons that evening: Don’t judge a man by his vest … and, it’s better to appear a fool than to open your mouth and remove all doubt.

Readers with questions or comments for Melissa Hart may write to her in care of this publication.