small cup of irony

last winter, a few days past Christmas, I went to the Caribou Coffee shop at Park Plaza just up the street from Taryn's house. I wanted to get away from the noise and dust of the remodeling of Taryn's house, and arrived in the little booth near the frosted window pane, small hazelnut coffee in-hand, around 9am. I had my bible with me and a small notepad for just-in-case notes. Not long after I had settled in my cozy corner did a rather rotund man plow his burly body through the double doors of the shop, scurrying up to the ordering-counter, eventually making his way to the table to my right. His coffee cup was lost in the grasp of his giant, fleshy-pink hands, and began busying himself with papers- so, so many papers. His hair matted with a layer of oil stuck to his forehead and neck. He wore a long-sleeved cotton shirt, charcoal colored sweatpants (2 sizes too small,) red suspenders and hiking boots. I remember thinking to myself "THIS must be what Santa looks like when he goes out for coffee...this is Santa's "down-time" attire.."

Ironically enough, this man had a messenger bag overflowing with newspaper clippings, letters and envelopes. (wait..was this guy really santa? I smirked.) I couldn't help but blankly stare- and, oh, what a daring, courageous stare it was! This man was sitting within 3 feet of me, and I was observing his presence as if I had front row tickets to his life's show. His large frame plopped into the wooden chair and he began shuffeling his papers in a cirular, rythmic motion, now completely covering the surface of the table.

His bag was made of tattered, worn leather- similar to the makings of his boots- slush-covered, tred-worn, loosened laced, boots- santa boots. The paper shuffeling continued- as did my staring- only, now my body was completely repositioned, facing his direction as my presence was absent of all things non-chalant- and STILL, this man didn't look at me...he just continued with those papers, keeping to himself the secrets of their contents..I wanted so badly to sit down at his table and read every single thing written on each one of those darned papers. What were they? Who was he? What was going on over there?

Have I mentioned that I am abnormally nosey? I've always told my mother that I want to have side-view mirrors like those on a car, attached to the side of my head so that I can keep track of what's going on behind and to the sides of me at all times. Only, this time...mirrors wouldn't help. I wanted to know more. Nosey? Yes.

This man captivated my attention..and, eventually, I slightly turned away and continued to read as be carried on with his business. I couldn't help but question this man's existence. Where was he for Christmas? Was he in town visiting family? Does he even have family? What kind of coffee was in his little cup? (I was betting whatever flavor the coffee was, that he ordered it with extra cream and sugar as only Santa would..) and, for goodness sakes, WHAT WAS HE DOING WITH ALL THOSE PAPERS??????!??!?!?!?!?

Just as my mind began to drift back to the contents of my book, he finally spoke.

He spoke to..me.

He said, "A book? It's refreshing to see a girl your age reading a book."

He glanced at my pen in-hand, and notebook and continued on, "And you like to write?..That's even better."

That was all the big man said.

I looked up at him-smiled, let out some sort of awkwardly nervous giggle and continued to read- only, this time, the messiness of that's man's table and hair no longer troubled my thoughts. My mind thought this man mad, strange and different, prior to his spoken words of complimentary worth in my direction- and, with that...I was encouraged.

The irony in this story is that I'm writing this as I sit here... alone, at a coffee shop, surrounded by families and couples- my table hidden by scraps of paper, aimlessly and frantically writing these words to... you. Needless to say, I admit that I have something in common with mr. santa-pants, and that is...I enjoy time to myself.

I stumbled upon this realization over our 3 day weekend we enjoyed last week. After spending 8hrs a day surrounded my students and fellow teachers, I clocked out at precisely 3:30pm on Friday afternoon, and was absent of all English-speaking social interaction from Friday afternoon until Tuesday morning at 7:00am. (oh, excuse me...I did verbally give my address to 3 cab drivers over the weekend,) but, other than that..there was a lot of silence. Prior to my coming here, I would have been strangely bothered by this scenario and feeling nothing short of all things lonely; however, it seems that I've become something similar to that of the greasy mr. santa-paper-pants in that I really do enjoy time alone. I've been to the mall on my own..out for coffee..grocery shopping...dinner..lunch..even breakfast- all alone, and surprisingly enough, I don't mind it!

However, do I prefer it?
All this alone time has led me to wonder if I'll one day find myself rummaging through a bag full of papers on a cool winter's morning, sitting beside a wide-eyed, curious youngster, sipping coffee in my tight sweatpants and red suspenders.