Overheard

I must confess, I am a serial eavesdropper.  Most writers are, I think.  After all what better character fodder is there than the conversation of strangers?  Of course, I don't go out of my way to hear what is obviously intended to be secret, but if people discuss things loudly in public places, they must take the consequences.  I like catching bits and pieces rather than whole conversations, and yes, I am quite easily amused.  Sometimes I jot the best things down, and today I went back through some of my old notebooks and unearthed these gems:


At the coffeehouse:


       "The secret to long life is to keep moving.  They can't bury you if you keep moving."


At the Campbell House, where I used to volunteer... always a goldmine:


       "People used to fall down stairs and die all the time.  It was really common back         then." (Speaking of the early Twentieth Century)


       "That was a 'picture box'.  It's how they watched movies." (Looking at a music box from the same period)


        "But it's a maid, and it's making food!" (A little boy, after seeing me in the kitchen, when his mother called him back upstairs)


        "The chest was made from wood from the Black Forest, from Sherwood Forest!" (This woman clearly thought they were the same place.  Completely aside from this geographical inconsistency, the chest, to the best of my knowledge, is not related to either forest.)
        
        "Did you hear that babies can't digest pickles all the way?"


And the latest, overheard yesterday when I was at lunch:


        "Now tell me, why would you want to sit diagonally?"


I will always regret that for that last I was sitting with my back to the people involved.


I purchased new pointe shoes yesterday, just in time to get them properly broken in before the show.  I love the smell of new pointe shoes.  It's strangely reminiscent of a saddle shop.  Also took myself to see the new Jane Eyre as a special treat to break up the errands.  Definitely the best version I've seen.  It's something that's been done so often you'd think there'd be nothing new there, but I feel it did the best job of capturing the spirit of the book.  Always there is the difficulty of making the Jane/Rochester relationship not too creepy.  In the book you're in her head.  You understand it.  But it's hard, I think, to transfer that to the screen.  It always seems to end in a compromise, either making Mr. Rochester younger, or getting an older actress to play the eighteen-year-old Jane.  Mia Wasikowska is the first Jane I've seen who is actually the right age, and Michael Fassbender is the perfect Rochester.  Of course, it's always good to see Judi Dench, and I've liked Jamie Bell ever since I saw him first as Smike in Nicholas Nickleby.  They also keep the eerie feel of the book, which seems to be missing from any of the film versions I've seen.  Altogether, they've managed to escape the trend of turning it into just another "period British drama".  I'll stop now, but it's definitely worth seeing, even for people who are not usually fans of period British film.

The Unselfconsciousness of Age and The Coffee Myth

One aspect of my job that never gets old is the opportunity of observing people.  As a barista you are perfectly placed for this type of observation.  To the customer you are almost, at times, like a piece of furniture.  You are part of the room, you belong there as much as the tables and chairs.  They seem to forget that you have eyes and ears, until they need something, and then you must possess superhuman hearing and the arms of an octopus.  Of course, no one reading this blog will never make that mistake again.


In any case, what I was much struck with this morning was something I've noticed before, but never with two such striking examples within minutes of each other.  That is: that in general, older people are much more ready to ask for what they really want, where the younger set seems much more image-conscious.  This is, perhaps, no great revelation in general, but still it amuses me.


First, there was the older man.  I'll call him Aristophanes, just to be different.  He came through this morning and said, "I want a 16 oz hot chocolate, but make it light on the chocolate and only half full, and I want the rest filled up with whipped cream."  Now there's a man who knows exactly what he wants.  I admire him for the same reason I admire the one (call him Hieronymous) who comes in and gets eight shots of espresso -- straight.  Both beverages are incredibly intense in their own very different ways, and both Aristophanes and Hieronymous are completely alright with themselves and the world.


Then there was the younger one (shall we call him Mortimer?) who came in a few minutes after Aristophanes and ordered drip coffee with cream, though I always get the impression that he would much prefer a latte -- if he dared.  Afterward, he stealthily steals over to the table where the other pot of coffee and the cream and sugar are kept, and treats his plain coffee to such an inundation of sugar that I nearly always have to refill the shaker after he is gone.  Similar is the case of the young man who orders (let's face it) a very sweet, barely caffeinated, and highly caloric drink, but when you give him straws will disdainfully remove them with the exclamation, "No sissy sticks!"


These are only a few examples, but I think it's safe to say that there is a very persistent myth in circulation which says that your maturity, strength, and masculinity are somehow tied to how you take your coffee and whether you drink it straight from the cup or suck it through pieces of hollow colored plastic.


May I say that I find this myth to be completely bogus?