Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

Sitting in the coffee shop, I sometimes take a break to pay attention to the people waiting for their coffee. Some are jittery, constant movement. Like they’ve already ingested a significant amount of caffeine, buzzy as little kids on a sugar high.

Then we have the impatient customer. Frequently tapping a foot, normally with hands in pockets or arms crossed, they look like they’re sighing over the unfairness of having to wait so darn long for their drink. Many of these will turn to their cell for comfort, chatting, texting, reading stuff, watching videos.

Others waiting for coffee assume a cool Steve McQueen demeanor, leaning back with mild indifference. The coffee will come and nothing they do will hurry it, so why bother? It’s not surprising to see some of them casually check cell phones, oozing as they do.

Fourth are those with the coffee stare. Stiff as a bronze statue, usually with their arms crossed, they posture right up against the counter’s edge, eyes opened wide, unblinking, waiting for their order. As drinks are made, you can almost hear their neurons shouting, “Is that mine? Is that mine?”

Finally, we have the laissez coffee set. Ordering, they find a table or sit until their order is called out.

Tuesday’s Wandering Thought

Been watching the Starbucks Grand Prix.

It’s a flat Mickey Mouse circuit. Enter from the main road. Then into the quick left right complex. Hard 90 follows. Accelerate up the short side straight.

Then a fast lefthand sweeper into to the end of the line. Creep up, order, and shoot back out into traffic.

Or, the less used option. wheel around and rush into a parking slot. Park, jump out. Fast walk to the door. Get inside and then —

Options: pick up order at the counter and hustle back out. Or order at the counter. Stand back, cross arms and wait, hip thrust out, staring as they prepare your order. Tap foot as needed.

Rare option: enter, order, sit. Pull out ‘puter. Do typy/clicky things.

Watch the Starbucks GP.

Rarest option: sit. Open book or newspaper. Read.

Friday’s Wandering Thoughts

He believes he’s acting the way he is because of what she said, and she believes she’s acting as she is because of what he said.

And they’re both right. And wrong. Emotions, memories, and history distort and cloud memories and reactions. That’s a relationship.

Monday’s Wandering Thought

I watched a young woman walking past the coffee shop. Wearing light-toned blue jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt, a dark blue ball cap let dark hair escape but was pulled low, like she was some manner of gunslinger from wild west days. It was her walk which struck me; her white shoes seemed to slap the concrete and she kept her head down, as though she had to concentrate like the Newman song, left foot, right foot, left foot, and so on.

That walk and style reminded me of someone I knew but no names came to mind. I’ve always been bad with names and faces.

Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

They were a couple, with those socks. Skin-tight, displaying every angle and curve of their ankles and feet — they both wore sandals on this warmish winter day — his socks were as golden as a Trump Towers sign, while hers were hot pink. Though he wore loose trousers and she wore capris, both garmets displayed a good six inches of their interesting socks.

They raised some questions, they did.

Monday’s Wandering Thoughts

It’s a first for me. Today’s coffee shop crew is all male. I’ve seen all-female crews several times. As I wrote, this is a first. Wondered if it was planned, a response to females noting that there’s often all-female crews, or just happenstance of the schedule. I suspect the last one.

Saturday’s Wandering Thoughts

One of the baristas seemed angry with him. He didn’t know why, but she appeared to act colder toward him, like he’d offended her. Searching his memories, he didn’t find a triggering episode. It could be other things, he told himself, like he’d imagined her being nicer and friendlier before, or he was imagining now that she was angry with him. Or, she might be upset with something happening in her life, and he’s just reading her interaction with him and misinterpreting it.

Really, though, while all of those were logically possible, it felt to him like she was angry with him, and that bothered him.

Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts

Someone said, “I’ve been watching Hallmark Christmas movies. I watched three yesterday.”

Surprise went through me. Had I missed Halloween and Thanksgiving? I replied, “What month is this?”

Another said, “We put up and decorated our first Christmas tree. We usually put up two, one in the living room window, and a larger one in the family room. That’s the one we put up.”

I was staring out at the sunshine and leaves. Many were still on trees, their chlorophyll declining, losing their green colors, letting other colors emerge. Autumn, in other words.

As others continued talking about their Christmas-themed activities, I thought, I’m really out of touch.

I’m still celebrating autumn.

Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts

Here we go. Thursday ends in a y, so it must be time for me to rant.

Subject: Are more people running red lights?

It seemed like that was rare for me to witness anywhere outside of Japan, which was over thirty years ago. I’d see one sometimes in the Bay area, especially in San Jose.

Now, here in little Ashland, I typically witness two cars or more a day running red lights. I rarely if ever saw them before the COVID era began. Now they’re increasing. While some are people turning left across traffic and waiting for an opening that doesn’t come until the light changes, the huge percentage are going straight, speeding up to hurtle through an intersection before the light goes red.

They often don’t make it. People get the green light and begin to go and then, here comes the red light runner, forcing everyone with the green light and right of way to slam on their brakes. I often witness very close calls between vehicles, or the speeding vehicle and cyclists or passengers.

It reminds me of the one crash I saw when someone ran the redlight.

This was around 1997. We were living in Mountain View, California, and had decided to go to the Mall of America in Milpitas. Stopped at a traffic light, I realized I needed to be in the lane to the right. Only one car inhabited it, so I thought I’d delay until they went and then shift over.

The light changed. The car in the next lane started off. I followed.

Suddenly, here comes a Cadillac sedan. Running the light from my left, they slammed into the driver’s side of the first car.

That could’ve easily been me.

We went right, around the block, coming back to check on the cars. Took a few minutes and by the time we arrived, the cops were there and the people from the crash were in a parking lot. But my wife and I stopped anyway, to share what we witnessed, and to check on the people.

As we approached, we heard the young female driver whose car was hit say with heavy sobbing, “I thought the light had changed.” On the parking lot’s other side, an old man paced while an elderly woman fumed beside him, arms crossed, lips tight.

I immediately said to the young driver, “It had changed. I was there. It was green when you went.”

The cops looked at me and asked who I was. I explained it all. My wife and I verified, the light was absolutely green when the woman went forward.

I heard the fuming woman say, “You’re always doing this. I knew this was going to happen.” As I looked her way, she finished to the old man, “You’re lucky you haven’t killed someone yet, but you will, if you don’t change.”

Watching these people taking greater and greater risk, I often now think the same thing which that woman said that day.

Tuesday’s Wandering Thoughts

My wife said, “I’m going to wear my blue sweater that I wore the other day, but I think you can see through it in the sunlight.”

I answered, “You can.”

“You could see through it?”

“Yes.”

“You could see through it but you chose not to say anything?”

“You’re very fashion aware. It’s a loose knit sweater. I thought you knew.”

Eyes rolling, throwing her hands up, she stormed off. I shrugged, guessing, I must be the asshole for not saying anything, and then reflecting on the entire process one more time.

We didn’t stay angry long; after being together for over fifty-two years as friends and everything else, we don’t stay angry. Act out or vent, move on. She came out, ready to go. She wasn’t wearing the blue sweater in question but a light blue sweater. I said, sincerely, “You look nice.”

She grinned at me. “Not see through?”

“Totally opaque,” I replied.

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