While some days are
worse than others, I’ve been stuck in an “I hate people” funk for over a year.
I’ve had so many moments where I questioned my decision to stay in Colorado,
because I left my closest friends in Cleveland. Not a large number of people,
but a select few I know I can count on in dire circumstances. Tell secrets to.
Look stupid in front of.
It’s been a slow
process finding those people in Denver. Today, at my favorite coffee shop,
someone I know from seminary waved at me from across the room like I was her
best friend – someone who repeatedly told me, “Let’s get coffee!” but never
responded to a single call or text about when to make that happen.
I hate people, I thought as I waved back.
The only table that
happened to be available was tucked in a corner. Not my favorite spot, but an
outlet and bathroom were nearby: two absolute necessities. I set up camp there,
preparing to stay there for a few hours editing the first draft of my
newest manuscript. With my laptop open and headphones in (even with no music
playing) I’m pretty sure I had my DO NOT DISTURB ME vibes in full motion.
I typed furiously
for about thirty minutes when I looked up, and saw someone I didn’t know (could have been
my age, but I’m horrible at guessing people’s ages) saying something in my
direction. Initially annoyed, I ripped out my headphones and said, “Yes?” as politely as I could muster.
“I’ve seen you here
before,” she said. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to join me and my
friend at that table over there?”
She points to the
table I always hope to get when I come here – but it was occupied when I
arrived.
I weighed my options:
how much editing will I get done if I’m
sitting with two people who will expect me to make some kind of introduction
about myself? But then again, how choosy can I afford to be when people are
attempting to make friends with me?
Honestly? Not
very. It’s been easier to keep to myself
to avoid disappointment and stick to my best “friends” that only exist in
books. But something about this person’s face convinced me this was a chance I
had to take.
Screw your paranoia, Sarahbeth. Go make some friends. So I packed up my
stuff, and joined their table.
I did get some editing done: not as much as I
would have liked, but the time lost on that project was made up for with
riveting discussion about whether it’s polite to eavesdrop on conversations
that are happening a mere few feet away from you, and if people have the right
to be offended if you insert your own opinion, because there’s no such thing as
an expectation of private conversation in crowded coffeehouses.
“Sometimes I can’t
help but say something,” I told my new tablemates, *Susie and *Milton. “Depends on the subject matter. If people are
showing extreme ignorance then I feel like it’s an obligation. Because stupid
can be contagious.”
And this, Sarahbeth, is why you don’t have a
lot of friends. That kind of honesty gets you in trouble.
“That’s hilarious,”
laughed Milton. Leaning toward Susie, he asked, “Where did you find this one?”
“Back in that
corner,” Susie answered, smiling.
We didn’t leave
exchanging numbers or Facebook usernames, but we did part with an expectation
that “maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”
I have no idea if I’ll
ever see those two again. But even if I don’t, it’s nice to be reminded every
now and then that people are capable of surprising you.
