I always say life is a sitcom. Well, I think I found my set.
Lucky for me, there’s a coffee shop not far from my apartment here in Charleston. My kids tell me it sounds like the bar on Cheers, “where everybody knows your name.” Close enough.
I am definitely their oldest customer. Every time I walk in, I raise the average age by about 50 years. These folks are in their 20s and 30s. I’m freakin’ old. LOL
In addition to great coffee, lattes, and cappuccinos, they have fine breakfast and lunch sandwiches, so I’m a frequent flyer. But the main reason I go is the people.
From the young barista with tattoos aplenty and jewelry pierced in several creative locations (I would never have had the guts), to the couple at the corner table, she with orange hair and him with no hair, it is always a delightful surprise. People watching is my favorite pastime. I don’t eavesdrop, mind you, but they speak to each other loud enough to carry over the normal din. And with my hearing, that’s saying something. They obviously want me to listen. Their jargon is full of unnecessary “likes,” and not unlike my New York experience many years ago, chock full of words I can’t repeat here. A real challenge to translate, especially when I’m missing half the context (remember, I’m hard of hearing). But it’s fun.
Sometimes they even talk with me. I get a chance to “hold court,” as my daughter says I do. And I love it, especially if they listen and chuckle at my vain attempts at humor. There’s something genuinely compelling about the connection you make with a perfect stranger over a cup of coffee. In ten minutes, some of these folks have heard my stories and know a little of where I’ve been.
My grandchildren know the full story. A ten-minute coffee shop conversation is just the highlight reel, I know that. But these strangers laugh at my jokes and seem genuinely interested, and that feels good. My family loves me, I know that too, but let’s just say they’ve heard it all before. I’m sure the eye rolls are a sign of affection.
Today I met a high school basketball coach. He and his companion were transplanted Yankees, like me. The gentleman, much younger than me like almost everybody, was a die-hard Yankees fan, just like I was in the fifties. Wow. That was over 70 years ago. Me recalling events from my life in the fifties is like someone in the fifties reminiscing about the Gunfight at the OK Corral, the assassination of President Garfield, Thomas Edison switching on the first incandescent light bulb, or the opening of the American West. Holy Moley. (That expression, by the way, was first published in the 1880s. Ain’t history wonderful?)
My two new friends and I bonded in just a few minutes. An enjoyable, memorable visit with two perfect strangers. I’m already looking forward to my next one. Who will I see? Who will I hear? Who will I bond with?
Life is a sitcom. Just picked up for season 87.
Enuf.
