A cafe. I’m drinking coffee, typing on a laptop. I am trying to do some writing. But it’s hard to concentrate. Namely, because I am sitting beside a group of middle-aged women who are having a conversation about Tupperware.
“Do you remember my friend Martha?” says one woman. “Martha has a Tupperware container, she got it at Target, she can put anything in it.”
“Anything?”
“Yep, anything she wants, she just puts it in the container.”
“Martha does?”
“She got it at Target.”
“They have good containers at Target.”
“Martha just loves it.”
“I’d love a container like that.”
“You should go to Target. That’s what Martha did.”
Shoot me.
I’m no longer writing. I’m people watching. My stare travels across the cafe where I see an old man seated alone. He is eating a sandwich, sipping coffee. He wears a ratty ball cap and gazes out the window. I have a soft spot for old men who look out windows.
Over to my left are teenagers—boys and girls. One boy is wearing a Boy Scout uniform, a girl sits beside him. They are holding hands. I smile because these kids
are so happy Norman Rockwell would eat his heart out.
Also, I see an elderly couple sitting behind me. He’s talking into a cellphone, using a voice loud enough to register on the Richter Scale.
Cellphone Guy shouts, “My doctor said my heart is looking good, honey! There’s nothing to worry about! I don’t need surgery after all!”
And the ladies beside me keeps talking:
“Yep, Martha told me the lid just unscrews off her container.”
“The lid unscrews?”
“On and off, just like this.”
“How does it go back on?”
“When you wanna put the lid on, you screw it on. When you wanna take it off, you unscrew it.”
“Whose container is this again?”
“Martha’s container, she got it at Target.”
Give me strength.
So I’m not…