It Hardly Matters

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Letter from the Coffee Shop

I spend so much time in the house now that when I go out, it's like I'm being stabbed by everything and everyone in every sense receptor I possess. Gravel, sunlight, human voices. Why is everything so bright and sharp and loud?

Speaking of loud, this girl's voice (sitting next to me, of course) has no business crossing the normal decibel level for human speech. She's asking her friend a question every other girl on the planet has asked at one point in her life (well, at least since the dawn of the telephone): "So, should I wait for this guy to call me back?" She asks it in a loud, dead, Valley girl monotone (do Valley girls still exist?), which makes me think that she shouldn't exactly hold her breath waiting for the phone to ring. I'd screen the bitch, so I'm assuming this dude would do the same.

An L train just let off the 9-5ers and they stream past the storefront, stylishly bundled against the cold, heading to the deli or the video store, preparing for a night in, warm, in comfortable clothing, excited about the season finale of Top Chef. It's my first time outside today. Which is what I wanted, this life is what I wanted. I chose to remove myself from the morning commute, the corporate meetings, the $12 lunches, the after-work 2-for-1 drink special. And I'm okay with leaving that stuff behind. I think I'm just surprised at how there's no one here on this side, just me.

The most pleasant facet of this coffee shop experience is the cuteness in a fedora peering at me over his girlfriend's blond shoulder. That's my lot in life: across the room from any potential human connection, across another relationship, across some weak-ass girl who can't carry her own groceries. (Sorry, Blondie, you're in the wrong place at the wrong time. I'm sure you carry your groceries and are a totally liberated woman, an inspiration for young females across the face of the planet, etc.)

The question is: do I put myself here, just out of reach, reclining on a settee licking grapes, or do the men? I honestly don't know. And if I'm the culprit, I didn't mean it. So, I'm sorry for not intending to position myself as the Other Woman, the Unattainable, but somehow ending up in that role. I really am sorry.


  • megan you don't need to apologize for anything. you just need to keep writing stuff like this.


    By Anonymous Anonymous, at 1:28 AM  

  • So sometimes women do like the gaze across the coffee shop . . . I always feel like such a creep even looking.

    By Anonymous RP, at 5:03 PM  

  • So glad Ilan won, so addicted to reality television, but only the high brow stuff.

    By Blogger Commuter, at 3:46 AM  

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