I was working away today and was sitting in a cafe on a busy street. All ready to leave. I had just about finished my mint tea, revised three pieces and had a social visit. My newest routine is to get an iced mint tea wherever I go. I am always testing to make sure they don't sneak some sort of alien ingredient of fruit juice in the tea bags. They do sweeten it without telling at one place, which I discovered. So ever since them, I tend to quiz the people behind the counter if I taste a hint of sweet. Yes, I have become one of THOSE people. I don't care. They can't spit in my food because I don't order any, and I harass them AFTER I've gotten my order.
So I figured I put in a good day's work and was ready to head home. But then at the last moment, when I got to my car, I thought, maybe a little more work. After all, I wanted to make use of the great parking space I got. In this area, it is IMPOSSIBLE to park, especially right near the shops on the weekend. But I did what I always do, when I was driving. I pray to the parking gods. Seriously. I do. And it usually works. If it doesn't work, I'm not focusing.
So after my first cafe, I decide to go to Peets Coffee and Tea before leaving. Peets has lackluster internet that I like to use. It's the type of internet server that makes you feel lowly for not having one of those little thingys that lets you get on the internet everywhere. I am thinking of getting one of those. I am addicted to being able to get on at all times. Maybe this is akin to being addicted to a vibrator. I don't know. But it seems bad. Anyway, Peets allows you on-line for two hours, but you are constantly getting booted off. Which means you have to go up to the counter, and ask once again, for the little piece of paper that allows you to type in a code and get on. Once you have done this, you are not homefree. The moment you move off from email, looking something up, and go back to your document, which there is probably a way to avoid, you get booted off. Someone once showed me how to work in a lot of "windows" at once, but looking at all those things at the same time made me feel schizophrenic.
So I am looking for a place to write. There is a cold and unpleasant breeze coming in, and I haven't eaten yet, which makes me a bit cold. I go all the way down to the end, near a lovely woman in this persimmon orange color with these perfect little braids. The color draws me in. Everyone else in this place looks beige. Or in all black like me. (I typically hate getting dressed, so I find it less exhausting if I can just wear all the same color. Less to match.)
Somehow, we get to talking. Actually, we get to talking, because I tell her, "I'm sorry I'm an inch away from you." But I am not, really. I could have moved on the other side, but there is something about her that makes me move nearby. She doesn't shrug or grimace or make one of those groaning sounds. Some people bother you when they are in your vicinity. Others are like water. So eventually, I apologize and point to this sticky, milky looking spot as the culprit. "I didn't want to put my computer in it," I say. She smiles.
"It's that," I accuse again, while pointing. She laughs and I go to get a napkin. "Now I can, since you're here and no one will steal my computer," I say. She laughs. She has these cool glasses on that frame her dark skin perfectly. They are green, and make her teeth stand out. She's got one of those faces that shine in a room. I wipe the spot and we find out that it is just a white circle and is not sticky. It is this spot that got us to meet and to talk. We get to talking. About her. About what I am writing. She's so interested. And I tell her what I "see" for her. This really interests her.
She's an artist. I tell her I see these blue tiles in an installation format. She says this is what she has just been studying, and she wants to do a piece on this. Anyway, I end up showing her how to move through her body and ground from the feet. Fun stuff I like to do. In the cafe, no less. I don't care and neither does she. No one is paying attention. The women behind us punctuated every other sentence with "like." I am reminded how inane it sounds. One of the two young women is talking about how "in love with me this guy at work is." And how she "lets" him do things for her and take her out to dinner. "A girl's got to eat, " she says. Nice.
The woman in the persimmon shirt and I talk for a while. About the street, and the people and how hard it is sometimes for people when they are looking outside of themselves. She gives me ideas for little postcards I am going to make up. It's that kind of moment that flows. We just talk some more, and marvel how this exact meeting, came together because of a variety of factors. And that the things I talked to her about were what she had been thinking on. That I had been just thinking this morning, that I wanted a new friend. This very day.
I hate having to do surface talk, I told her. She smiles and I do too, a lot more during this exchange. I love the energy of connecting and meeting new people. To think that just turning a corner this way or that, leads to all this. Chance is such an interesting and lovely thing, sometimes.
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