I was in my primary coffee shop yesterday, writing away in a corner and deeply involved with what I was doing. Even with that true, I’d followed who arrived and left, where they were and what they were doing. It was a habit or talent I’d developed while young. It’d become bolstered first by military counter-terrorist training and situational awareness, and then fostered more as I leaned in to writing fiction and honed my observational skills.
Left was a man who seemed about five years older than me, putting him in his early seventies. He was a regular at both of my coffee haunts. Striking me as a lonely person, I’d witnessed him start conversations with others. When I overheard them, the topic was usually novels he’d read or novels the other was reading.
Rising from the chair he’d settled into, he approached the early twentyish woman on my right. Another regular but not as frequent as me, she was familiar to me. I’d seen the other man talk to her a few times. He greeted her as a friend and she reacted in kind. They began talking about books and his recent visit to a bookstore.
The coffee house manager went to them. I didn’t hear what was being said, but it ended with her escorting him out. After he was gone, I saw the shift lead go talk to the manager. Again, nothing was heard. The shift lead returned to her spot behind the counter, and then the manager approached the young woman the man had been talking with.
After giving her name and explaining her position, the manager asked, “Do you know that man?”
“No, not really. He’s spoken to me before.”
“Well, I came over because we’ve had complaints about men approaching young women such as yourself without being invited. Some feel threatened and believe that the man was trying to groom them or other young women, so we felt we needed to act.”
The woman thanked her and the manager went away.
I sat, reflecting on all sides of this, wondering exactly what was true and real, respecting the coffee shop’s position but understanding the man’s loneliness. Yet, I didn’t know if he was grooming. I don’t know his intentions. And then, there are other men who may have approached young females to groom them. It can be an insidious world.
I mentioned it all to my wife, who reminded me, “Woman are often socialized to be friendly when a man approaches. It’s hard for them to say no to them or rebuff them. That’s just how we’re still taught through movies and television shows, and the things we see. Men are in power and are to be respected is what we’re taught, and it’s hard to break the habits that come from that training.
I understand that, too, and thought of my own position when I go into the coffee shop to write. I’m friendly with staff but not other customers. While I want to be friendly with others, my natural inclination, I decided that I need to not be friendly with other regulars; I’m there to write, and the time that I’ve carved out for that is precious. Despite observing so many who seem desperate or hungry for social interations, I do so with regret but remain firm about it.
We’ve followed long and tortured paths to come to these moments of who we are.
I feel sad for the man. It seems, from your description, that he is just lonely and finds common grounds with others through books. If he had spoken to the woman on other occasions, then she must not have felt any fear of him, so why didn’t she stick up for him? Sigh. 😥
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A lot of that also went through my head. I saw him later at another coffee shop. I suppressed an urge to speak with him because of my protectiveness over my writing time, but it weighs on me. I don’t want him to be lonely but I’m selfish, so I stay in this conundrum. As you say, sigh.
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Yeah … it’s difficult and I don’t know what I would do, either.
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It’s a strange situation—maybe the young woman had previously complained and just didn’t want the man to know? We’ve had that situation at the antique market where I work. It’s our job to be friendly to customers but there are always guys who thinks it means more. Even I, at my age, have had to block men who talk to me at work then find my public Facebook page and start making weird comments. I clearly wear a wedding ring but it still happens.
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Yes, that’s a possibility, of course, and illutsrates the issue’s complexities; people can omit the truth or manage it in other ways. As you note, a strange situation. I feel what you’re saying, as my wife has gone through the same since she was sixteen, fifty years ago. It doesn’t end. Sad.
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