A sight

Way back when I was in college, there was among my acquaintances a very attractive woman who would occasionally wear a brown leather jacket (men's, of course), one shoulder strap ironically adorned with a nice, big cock ring. She was the kind of person men and women alike swooned over. She carried herself with a curious mixture of sharp wit, quiet confidence, strong presence, and a good dash of devil-may-care audacity. She was, in short, the hottest woman on campus, and you wouldn't doubt for a moment her ability to top another girl in a heartbeat. (She once directed my hand, her eyes twinkling, to her crotch as proof that she was packing that night. It was a moment of utterly wicked delight.)

These memories came back to me in a flash this afternoon when I saw, in the coffee shop, a young man in a black leather jacket with two hula hoops hanging from one of his shoulder straps like military cords. Good heavens, I thought. What a massive cock he must have.

Table hopping

I'm an unabashed table-jumper. I suspect this is one of those things you're really not supposed to do at coffee shops that people do anyway. I do my best to make up for it by buying something small every time I jump tables, and by not leaving a mess behind. (I regularly see people fail to bus their own tables. Now that's a real crime.)

There's something to be said for hopping tables. You get a new perspective on the same block of time. If one section of floor is boring, you move to a new one, simple as that.

This morning I overheard the people next to me (despite their valiant attempts to remain hush-hush) discussing the employees. It was a young straight couple I see here fairly often. She's all about the sweet-young-innocent PDA thing, always touching his hands. It's endearing. They're a cute couple. They had one of those moments where they were trying to recall one barista's name:

She: Who's the other one? The one with the glasses?
He: I heard his name once but I can't remember.
When next she speaks, her voice is a conspiratorial whisper.
She: I swear I heard him say "Sequoia."
The two look around carefully to make sure no one is listening.

There's something about these kinds of awkward exchanges that just tickles me pink.

They were entertaining for a while, but then it was time for a change of scenery. I'll admit it: one of the little pleasures of table-hopping is the possibility that you'll end up sitting in just the right spot to observe someone cute.

Alas, no such luck today. Maybe next time.

Seen

Non-coffee shop-goers often labor under the illusion that people go to coffee shops to work. The depth of this illusion proves just how misunderstood coffee shop culture is. To be fair, we ourselves often misrepresent our reasons for frequenting these places. Witness, common things we tell ourselves (or others) about our habits:

1. We want to read the paper over a good cup of coffee (with or without the requisite biscotti).
2. It's a convenient place to meet with people to discuss business, projects, love, life, whatever.
3. It's a change of scenery from the office/department/house/hotel, one that is somehow (and inexplicably) conducive to Getting Work Done.
   

No matter what pretensions we have for ourselves as far as doing "work" goes (whatever kind of work we might actually be attempting to do), in reality we go to coffee shops and sit for three reasons:

1. To kill time.
2. To observe others.
3. To be seen.

Don't let anyone try to fool you. Unless they habitually tuck themselves out of sight into a quiet nook to read, no one sitting in a coffee shop really expects any serious privacy. We might not admit this to ourselves, but it's a simple cultural truth. And while some of the things we say might actually be true (e.g., it sometimes is better to discuss business at a place like this, especially if the subject is too sensitive or politically dangerous to discuss at the office/department/whatever), the bottom line is that we come here to see and be seen.

And those guys/gals who do tuck themselves away in a corner with a book? They're not fooling anyone.

Overheard

Overheard at the table just in front of mine this evening: a petite woman explaining to two international students the difference between mass murderers and serial killers. The title America's Most Wanted came up.

I love this place.