I've been sitting at this table for a while now. Attempting work, but really just losing myself in the conversations floating around me and the commotion that stirs in a chain coffee house. This Panera is interesting. Unlike others I have been in, the clientele is extremely diverse-- college kids and grandparents, unprecedented amounts of different races and ethnicities for such a small space. Languages I'm not sure I ever heard are spoken around me as I sit with my feet crossed beneath my chair.
The girls behind me earlier talked ravenously about collegiate night-life. Stories of nights sewn together with threads of laughter, eye-rolling and jealousy. These girls love boys--a different one is the root of every long-winded account.
A man walks infront of me--tweed pants with LEATHER LINED POCKETS! How have I gone through life thus far without ever noticing such a bold fashion statement as this? His short turtle-neck pops up from beneath a maroon sweater. His hair is tussled like many younger, hipper dudes wish theirs was.
[Edit-it's a toupee!]
His gait is confident, steeped in time. I presume he's sitting with his granddaughter and wife as the two ladies are separated visibly by many years. The older of the two looks as if she used to roam long, winding wooded paths. Her hair's parted to the side with bangs casually pinned up to the side. She possesses a knowing face. The kind who can likely read the uncertainty or guilt in your eyes without really trying. Wry, pursed lips seem more aged than angry. Each wrinkle on her face and hands seems earned. Earned with gumption. Earned with patience.
The young man who sits over there, behind me, to the left, is a study. A septum piercing hangs from the middle of his nose and gaping holes hang empty in his ears. Surly punk rockers never seemed so sweet and intelligent. He speaks passionately to someone on his cellphone. Culture. Studies. Training. A sociologist of psychologist in training? Before stepping out to grab something from his car, he asks the young girls next to him to watch his things. Trusting, too? Later he returns still gabbing about societal norms and unrealistic expectations of women. The question I mull on is whether or not he is genuine. Has he taken a few classes or has he learned something? I'm intrigued as he taps his hands on the table like a heavy metal drummer. He hums as he grabs his order of food from the counter, hums as he walks back to his seat, hums as he spreads mustard on marble rye bread. Crunching chips, he clicks and clacks the keys on his laptop, working on some big paper for some big grade. The other question I have for him-- what's he listening to?
Saturday, January 30, 2010
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