As I sit here I am inundated with inane conversations from every side. And it’s the one time I can honestly feel invisible. As long as I keep my head down, and as long as I’m looking at my phone while I piece this post together, I will continue to be so. And the things I hear!
To my right are two what I could only describe as old friends having a chat about getting old. I have found out both of their ages, their medical conditions, and the fact that one of them is going to a party for a 107-year old relative next weekend. All in the space of five minutes.
Not to be outdone, the three fellas to my left have been having a loud discussion about females (and no, they didn’t call them females), obviously forgetting that they are in a public venue, that or just not caring. I think it might be the latter. No indoor voices in that bunch.
Then there’s the cafe behind me where a patron is drinking coffee and talking about being a quarter native American. I cannot see her, so I don’t know if she looks it, but from the reaction of the proprietor, I don’t think she does.
At the circulation desk, a man stands, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he waits for his book to be checked out. He sports a black backpack and a winter cap on his head. As he turns to walk out the door, the crew to my left draws him in. He is one of them. I would have never guessed. He seems so quiet, well-dressed, and he is a reader. You see, you never can tell. Perhaps they come from the same neighborhood, maybe a couple of blocks away, somewhere near the barber shop that also sells bean pies. Homemade.
He leaves the library with one of his buddies, and I can now hear him get louder. Peer pressure at work, or maybe it really is his personality too, when he is with others.
And I sit here still. Invisible.