I have a terrible addiction. I am a chronic people-watcher. Oh sure, you have no sympathy whatsoever, because, you too, like to occasionally take some time to watch people. I’m not talking about your random acts of behavior observation. I am talking obsession. If I were to come across a flyer on a community bulletin board detailing a meeting of “People Watchers Anonymous” I would sign up immediately. “Hi, I’m Gary and I’m watching you.”
When I am out working, I will schedule my day to include a break for lunch. Food courts are a people-watchers paradise. I have a feeling the fellow who invented them, Edmond Foodcourt, was a PW. I also love Japanese food and my reasoning is that it is good for you, since Japanese people seem to age slowly and make good cars and were pretty darn good soldiers in World War II. I also love chopsticks and have mastered the art of using them on those slippery bits of chicken, but I do digress.
So, picking out my food is quick and easy which leaves time to position myself strategically for my PW session. I like to place my potential subjects at my ten o’clock and two o’clock positions, table-wise. I then assign my targets names, because when you are covertly analyzing someone’s behavior, it is much easier to call them Peter or Mary than subject A or the guy with stupid looking fishing hat. I have a box of names I use with subcategories based on their condition in life. Folks in my generation or older are provided names that have generally gone out of style like Oscar or Myrtle. Teenagers become Thad or Katey and so on. If close enough, I might catch their real name, though I find that a bit distracting.
This all may sound innocent enough, or possibly a bit demented, but sometimes things can go awry. A few weeks ago, I sat so that my ten o’clock was a young male homosexual couple. My two o’clock was empty. I am not one of those heterosexual males who is put off by male homosexuals. For that reason, I found their behavior charming. I think they were discussing kitchen appliance purchases at the nearby Sears. and I’m pretty sure the debate was over on-counter versus under the counter microwaves. Anyway, they (now Peter and Lawrence) were off in their own little world, occasionally touching each other’s hands in a very loving way. Along life’s lonely pathway, they had found each other, I waxed poetically in my mind.
Shortly after digging into my chicken, my two o’clock view became occupied by Bernie and Bessie (I like alliterative older couples for some reason). Bernie was not at all pleased by the service he’d just gotten and Bessie was upset with herself for having ordered the food that she did, because she was quite sure that it would keep her up all night and didn’t look anywhere near as appetizing as it had in the picture. This was quite audible as they had passed by me to get to my two o’clock table.
To my way of thinking, you really have to accept what you get at a food court. Most of the food has been under a red light for an hour or two, was prepared by someone who never, ever envisioned him/herself ending up doing that for a living and the meal costs you about one half of what a diner would charge. Don’t look for a Brooks Brothers label in Walmart.
It took them a good ten minutes to get settled, which is by no means a criticism on my part, as I spent that same good ten minutes twiddling one piece of teriyaki on my chopsticks while watching them get settled. We all like our stuff well arranged. Coats, pocketbooks, napkins, trays, cell phones- all must be carefully positioned or our pepperoni pizza or burger just won’t be palatable. We’d be too distracted worrying about the whereabouts of our stuff. After creating a temporary nest for themselves, Bernie and Bessie caught sight of my ten o’clock. They looked as if they were witnessing a Roman orgy.
“Can you believe that two men could act that way in public? Look at them, all over each other, in a public eating area! If there were a manager here, I’d ask him to speak to those two.” Now I can’t vouch for the accuracy of this observation as I am no lip-reading wizard, but Bessie’s sentiments were pretty obvious.
Bernie turned and stared at the young lovers. “Jesus Christ, I can’t eat my lunch now!” I think I nailed that lip-read.
They carried on a heated conversation for quite some time, lamenting the moral decline of our society and I do believe I heard some references to France and Belgium, but I’m not sure. As they finally began the straw unwrapping process I glanced over at ten o’clock and froze in horror. Lawrence, seated facing me, had apparently apprised Peter of my interest in Bernie and Bessie’s reaction to them, and Peter was attempting a furtive glance in my direction, while Lawrence looked over resentfully at Bernie and Bessie. Peter was no PW, and his efforts to spy on my spying were painfully obvious. Worse, he swung back around when our eyes met, giggling hysterically.
It’s bad enough when your subject stares back at you, but now we had a PW triangle going. Bernie caught sight of Lawrence, and then stared in my direction, curious as to what had caught Peter’s interest. No doubt Bernie now assumed me to be one of “those people” as well. Were he a veteran PW, I might have been named Percy. Notwithstanding my acceptance of the homosexual lifestyle, I did have an urge to run over to Bernie and flip open my wallet to my collection of grandkid pictures. Oh, and this is my lovely wife of forty-seven years, buddy boy. I have to work on that.
I had only one alternative. It was up to me, obviously, the senior PW in this circumstance, to remove myself. Perhaps things would settle down a bit. Sacrificing some perfectly good, though admittedly cold chicken and that wonderfully lumpy white rice I enjoy so much, I stood up, staring down intently at the table, seemingly intrigued by the advertising flyer from Sears left nearby, and put my coat on.
Isn’t it amazing that when you don’t want to look at someone or something, that it is all but impossible not to? I never want to rubberneck at the terrible roadside collision scenes, but always do. At this moment I wanted to look at one of the twenty cell phone stores, or Sears, or even the bathroom area, but my eyes just went and dragged my head back around to the shadowy theatre from which I was escaping. I was satisfied to note that Peter and Lawrence were deep in another discussion, legs intertwined under the table. Bernie had pulled apart his hamburger and was analyzing the contents. Bessie was dragging a large chunk of mozzarella off of the top of her slice. The world had regained a bit of balance. My work here was done.
When I am out working, I will schedule my day to include a break for lunch. Food courts are a people-watchers paradise. I have a feeling the fellow who invented them, Edmond Foodcourt, was a PW. I also love Japanese food and my reasoning is that it is good for you, since Japanese people seem to age slowly and make good cars and were pretty darn good soldiers in World War II. I also love chopsticks and have mastered the art of using them on those slippery bits of chicken, but I do digress.
So, picking out my food is quick and easy which leaves time to position myself strategically for my PW session. I like to place my potential subjects at my ten o’clock and two o’clock positions, table-wise. I then assign my targets names, because when you are covertly analyzing someone’s behavior, it is much easier to call them Peter or Mary than subject A or the guy with stupid looking fishing hat. I have a box of names I use with subcategories based on their condition in life. Folks in my generation or older are provided names that have generally gone out of style like Oscar or Myrtle. Teenagers become Thad or Katey and so on. If close enough, I might catch their real name, though I find that a bit distracting.
This all may sound innocent enough, or possibly a bit demented, but sometimes things can go awry. A few weeks ago, I sat so that my ten o’clock was a young male homosexual couple. My two o’clock was empty. I am not one of those heterosexual males who is put off by male homosexuals. For that reason, I found their behavior charming. I think they were discussing kitchen appliance purchases at the nearby Sears. and I’m pretty sure the debate was over on-counter versus under the counter microwaves. Anyway, they (now Peter and Lawrence) were off in their own little world, occasionally touching each other’s hands in a very loving way. Along life’s lonely pathway, they had found each other, I waxed poetically in my mind.
Shortly after digging into my chicken, my two o’clock view became occupied by Bernie and Bessie (I like alliterative older couples for some reason). Bernie was not at all pleased by the service he’d just gotten and Bessie was upset with herself for having ordered the food that she did, because she was quite sure that it would keep her up all night and didn’t look anywhere near as appetizing as it had in the picture. This was quite audible as they had passed by me to get to my two o’clock table.
To my way of thinking, you really have to accept what you get at a food court. Most of the food has been under a red light for an hour or two, was prepared by someone who never, ever envisioned him/herself ending up doing that for a living and the meal costs you about one half of what a diner would charge. Don’t look for a Brooks Brothers label in Walmart.
It took them a good ten minutes to get settled, which is by no means a criticism on my part, as I spent that same good ten minutes twiddling one piece of teriyaki on my chopsticks while watching them get settled. We all like our stuff well arranged. Coats, pocketbooks, napkins, trays, cell phones- all must be carefully positioned or our pepperoni pizza or burger just won’t be palatable. We’d be too distracted worrying about the whereabouts of our stuff. After creating a temporary nest for themselves, Bernie and Bessie caught sight of my ten o’clock. They looked as if they were witnessing a Roman orgy.
“Can you believe that two men could act that way in public? Look at them, all over each other, in a public eating area! If there were a manager here, I’d ask him to speak to those two.” Now I can’t vouch for the accuracy of this observation as I am no lip-reading wizard, but Bessie’s sentiments were pretty obvious.
Bernie turned and stared at the young lovers. “Jesus Christ, I can’t eat my lunch now!” I think I nailed that lip-read.
They carried on a heated conversation for quite some time, lamenting the moral decline of our society and I do believe I heard some references to France and Belgium, but I’m not sure. As they finally began the straw unwrapping process I glanced over at ten o’clock and froze in horror. Lawrence, seated facing me, had apparently apprised Peter of my interest in Bernie and Bessie’s reaction to them, and Peter was attempting a furtive glance in my direction, while Lawrence looked over resentfully at Bernie and Bessie. Peter was no PW, and his efforts to spy on my spying were painfully obvious. Worse, he swung back around when our eyes met, giggling hysterically.
It’s bad enough when your subject stares back at you, but now we had a PW triangle going. Bernie caught sight of Lawrence, and then stared in my direction, curious as to what had caught Peter’s interest. No doubt Bernie now assumed me to be one of “those people” as well. Were he a veteran PW, I might have been named Percy. Notwithstanding my acceptance of the homosexual lifestyle, I did have an urge to run over to Bernie and flip open my wallet to my collection of grandkid pictures. Oh, and this is my lovely wife of forty-seven years, buddy boy. I have to work on that.
I had only one alternative. It was up to me, obviously, the senior PW in this circumstance, to remove myself. Perhaps things would settle down a bit. Sacrificing some perfectly good, though admittedly cold chicken and that wonderfully lumpy white rice I enjoy so much, I stood up, staring down intently at the table, seemingly intrigued by the advertising flyer from Sears left nearby, and put my coat on.
Isn’t it amazing that when you don’t want to look at someone or something, that it is all but impossible not to? I never want to rubberneck at the terrible roadside collision scenes, but always do. At this moment I wanted to look at one of the twenty cell phone stores, or Sears, or even the bathroom area, but my eyes just went and dragged my head back around to the shadowy theatre from which I was escaping. I was satisfied to note that Peter and Lawrence were deep in another discussion, legs intertwined under the table. Bernie had pulled apart his hamburger and was analyzing the contents. Bessie was dragging a large chunk of mozzarella off of the top of her slice. The world had regained a bit of balance. My work here was done.
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