I often wonder what other people at my coffee shop are doing. What are you doing over there, guy with the enormous beard? I see you with your iced green tea, laptop and intense expression. Me? I’m editing photos and typing out recipes and looking at babies on Facebook. Also I’m thinking about if a cookie counts as lunch, and whether or not the Splenda in my daily coffee will one day kill me (yes, I’m cool with cookies for lunch but feel the need to moderate my sugar intake when it comes to coffee consumption — I’m a walking contradiction and I’m fine with it).
Hey, Lady with the great hair and cool necklace — whatcha doing? Writing a collection of short stories? Studying for your botany exam? Pinning cat photos? Oh, and Guy in the Steve Jobs uniform — yeah you, Mr. Rolling-Your-Eyes-And-Screaming-Into-Your-Bluetooth — we get it. You’re important at your important start-up that’s important. Settle down.
All these people and me, we share an “office.” People are always coming and going and going and coming again, and we sometimes smile and nod as we come or go or refill our coffee cups, but we don’t really know each other. I don’t know about their dissertations or their break-up emails or their rampant online shopping habits, and they don’t know about my pumpkin mousse. It’s just weird, I guess. They should know about the mousse.