Hugely distracted, I was concerned when I plunked myself on the couch beside Bailey and Joyce. A group of Food Service Ladies talked loudly about grocery shopping, JC Penney’s a “six dollar deal.” After five or more minutes, I had nothing to prove that I had even been part of this third portion of the marathon, when a burly young guy with arm tattoos headed for the piano. Our eyes locked. I guess he didn’t see the classic “deer in the headlights look.” I can’t concentrate, I screamed inside, you are NOT going to start playing the piano, are you. So much for telepathy.
Of course, this is all about ME. My needs. My course. My expectations. It is all about ME. As the guy in the ball cap hurries past his gray curls glint of his age. I wonder is he a student? A father? An employee? And then the fifth lunch lady joins the group, “Can I join you girls?” If they are all out here eating their lunch, who is tending the operation of the food court? I thought. The cashier who took the time to use my name yesterday after a quick glance at my debit card, laughs heartily and listens intently with her eyes. She claps for the piano guy. She has happy eyes that turn up at the temples. A people person, I can tell. To connect. Thank you for the entertainment. Don’t forget your shirt sweetie! See you tomorrow. The lady with the happy eyes yells across the way. The other ladies silent. They must gather like this everyday at the same time those five lunch ladies and the piano guy. It’s funny. I sat here at first not wanting to connect. Taking the time to watch and listen, I had no other choice than to connect.