Blog number 125 Oct. 26, 2007
We plan to leave for Teresa's physical rehab at 9:00 AM, but since we needed to get gas, we decided to change that time to 8:30 AM. At 8:25, Teresa comes up to me and says, "I don't want to hang around here, let's leave now." I say OK. So we leave.
We get gassed and I drop Teresa off at rehab at 8:45 AM. I go toolin' down Florence Blvd., on my way to Starbucks, a cup of coffee and a sugar coated apple-caramel pastry. I have the windows down and the radio blaring out a Roy Orbitson tune I don't recall ever hearing before. I'm as happy as a politician with enough votes than I can afford to trade some of them for a new Lincoln Continental.
My cell phone suddenly starts playing a tune. I answer.
"Hello?"
"You dropped me off forty-five minutes early! Now I'll have to sit here for forty-five minutes!"
"Want me to come back and get you?"
"No. I don't know why you felt you had to drop me off so early."
"Wait a minute. I thought it was a joint agreement. Besides, YOU were the one that wanted to leave at 8:25."
"What ever."
Jeeze!
I get to Starbucks. I get my paper, my pastry and my coffee. I sit down in one of four easy chairs in a little private cubbyhole away from the wooden tables and chairs out in the main room. This is my sanctuary. My reading room. My thinking room.
I always choose the chair by the window if no one is already sitting there. I would not dream of asking anyone to move so that I could sit there. It would never enter my mind. I can't imagine anyone asking anyone to move from there so that they could sit down. In civilized circles, such an affront is just not done.
The light comes in from the window over the left shoulder, making it a perfect light for reading. The other chairs do not sit at such an advantageous position, two of them face the light coming in and one sits in a dark corner with only a dim light for illumination.
I am eating my pastry, drinking my coffee, writing a synopsis of my interlude with Teresa as described above, when an old man asks me if I would move so that he could sit there because his wife ... and here his voice trails off and he motions towards her carelessly with his left hand. Meant to imply, I am sure, that he and his wife wish to sit close together in order to converse about intimate things.
I say sure and start to gather up my coffee, my book, my newspaper, my writing materials so that I can move to one of the other chairs. I drop my pen and he graciously attempts to pick it up for me, but I beat him to it. Both of them thank me effusively.
I finish my note taking, begin to read my paper and later my book. I notice that the old man and woman converse for about a minute and then both pull out paperback books and proceed to read for the rest of the time I am there.
I am amazed that they did not seem to feel any shame, nor embarrassment, nor any sort of human connection. I like to think that old people have put themselves a little more distant from such childish selfishness, but I guess that's a little too much to ask.
I am going to watch for them. Next time that couple comes in and asks me to move, I'll smile sweetly and say, "Oh, that's so gracious of you, and I thank you for your kind thought, but I'll have to decline. But thanks anyhow."
P.S. One week later I am again in Starbucks, I leave to get Teresa, I pick her up and she wants to go back to Starbucks, so we do. When we arrive, I see the couple sitting exactly where they were the last time. I missed them by about fifteen minutes, I surmise.
Teresa and I sit in the other chairs and I pass a note to Teresa that says, "That's the couple I was telling you about," and she says out loud, "I thought it was,"
"I'll keep a lookout for them, you betchum Red Ryder. I'll get them," I ruminate while rubbing my hands together mumbling, "Excellent." A la Mr. Burns. I can't wait.
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