I have set writing times/days each week. It’s something I picked up from graduate school. If I make a habit of writing on a schedule, and do not accept excuses for skipping or scheduling over it, I make good progress on my book. I generally do my writing at a local Panera Bread or the library, because uninterrupted work in my house would be impossible. So I avoid children coming to me every five minutes, but instead I hear all kinds of other conversations. Most of them I can easily ignore, but some are just too good not to eves drop a little.
One day it sounded like there was a televangelist couple sitting in the booth next to me. I couldn’t see them, but they had their computers out and zoom on loud enough for me to hear. Lots of talk about donations, and hitting up a list of people for additional donations, and they used variations of “bless” so many times I stopped counting at 30. He did most of the talking, but she would chime in with some “amen” action regularly. I may not be capturing this verbatum, but at one point he said something like, “You need to get them to feel moved by God, and He’ll do the rest.”
I used to go on a weekday morning regularly until school stopped for the summer. I always got my Pepsi, an asiago bagel, and cream cheese. At the same time I came in to order, an older man would always be there too. Sometimes he was directly in front of me, others times behind. Once we arrived at the door at the same time. Very polite, friendly with the staff, and always ordered the same breakfast too. He’d meet a few of his friends there and they kibitz for an hour or two. I could rarely hear what the other men said, but my old gentleman was loud. Like, there was no way to NOT hear him kind of loud. And he had some strong opinions.
Regarding Biden, “our country is in trouble, we’re going down… with Biden in control we’ll go the way of the Romans. They lasted 250 years, we’re at 215.”
Concerning the Covid payments, “Murders are getting $1400!”
He spoke about “the war” a lot, and based on his stories he was obviously a veteran. One of my favorite comments from him was, “I had hay fever, but the tear gas cleared it up. I loved tear gas!”
I also had the pleasure of witnessing someone’s job interview once. They met in a back corner, and a stereotypical salesman personality interviewed two young men. The first interviewed well enough (“well” = boring, uneventful, standard), I could block it out. But the second was embarrassing to hear.
“Do you have experience with (insert main job duty)?”
“No,” in a flat voice.
“None? Take a minute to think about school, volunteer positions, and stuff.” The interviewer was obviously trying to help him. His immediate reply was, “No, I have none.” Flat voice again.
“So, why do you think you’d be a good choice?”
“Well, um, I’m really, uh, good at talking to people.”
There was a long pause following that statement before they moved on to other questions. I felt for him. I would hate having a job interview in a public place. I would think that would place them under even more stress. But I also felt bad that no one taught him interview skills. Those are some of people I would love to help out. Just a quick one hour session before an interview to whip them into shape.
But the most amazing conversation I heard was between two men sitting at the table across from me. One was our city council president, and the other the newest elected representative. The president was giving the new guy a run down on how things were within the city government. They spoke about the amount of funds needed to run (the council president only needs $3,000, evidently), how council seats are never contested, how the mayor has very few friends on the council, that female educators are more easily elected, and that a Democrat would never a seat (followed by much laughter).
I gave up writing during that conversation. I leaned on my elbow, drank Pepsi, and took notes. No subterfuge, I was obviously watching them. They never looked up at me.
In the long run, does it matter? Probably not. They are small peeks into the lives of complete strangers in my community. Lots of local flavor. But these people, the loud public talkers, made me realize how vulnerable conversations are. When you’re sitting in a booth, zoomed in on the person you’re facing, talking as if no one else is around, anyone could be listening. It’s one of those things where your logical mind says, “well, duh, you’re talking in public! Of course people could hear you.” But the other part of your brain, the one that’s in-tune in that moment of conversation, doesn’t seem to remember/realize. There is lady across from me right now is talking in great detail about her medical history to a friend. I am positive she would not tell me this stuff if I walked up and asked her, but I’m getting it all anyway.
Will I change any habits as a result of my observations? Yes. When I’m out with my husband next I’ll make sure we talk about some obscure topics to entertain anyone who may be listening. The more absurd the better.
I’m also not someone to tell “no.” I was told in high school that D&D was for boys and that I couldn’t play. I went on to become the Role Playing Guild Master at my university, and organized a gaming convention. So of course, thanks to Mr. Council President, I’m also planning to run for city council when our reps seat is up. And I plan to win.
Cheers.
Northern Skies Publishing 