The Quiet Weird Ones

Just the other day I was in a coffee shop, working on a manuscript draft when a woman sat at the table next to me. Initially, I took her for a college student. She had wide legged jeans, big, fashionable glasses, and long hippie-straight hair. She also had a variety of bags.

She got a ceramic mug of coffee and set it directly in front of her. Then, like she'd ben stung by a bee, she jumped and started to rustle around in one of her bags. This caught my eye only because the movement was so sudden and violent. I watched her out of the corner of my eyes.

Finally, she found whatever she was looking for. She stilled and pulled a milk frother from her bag. It wasn't wrapped in anything, it was just a standard battery operated, hand held, milk frother.

By now I had completely abandoned my edits. The woman stuck the frother in her coffee shop coffee and turned it on. She frothed her hand made coffee. When she was done, she put the frother back in one of the bags.

This was not the kind of coffee shop that didn't let you "adulterate" your coffee. Meaning, there were no men in canvas aprons with highly producted mustaches telling you that you would drink the coffee as they made it or you would leave, but still, I had never seen such a thing.

I went back to editing. Then, the woman caught my eye again. She was bending over to drink the coffee rather than picking up the mug. At first I thought this was because the mug was too full, but after several long sips, I realized, she was uninterested in picking up the mug. She was just going to giraffe it. And when it got too low, she simply tipped the cup rather than pick it up.

Finally, I really looked at her. I realized, this woman was not in college. Her hair had more grey than brown. She was closer to middle aged than young, and her actions were not those of a kid looking to find her way. This woman had found her way. It was not my way, but it was a way.

While I had never seen someone do what this woman was doing, one thing she did not do was slurp her coffee. She drank quietly. And for this, I found her a very respectful coffee shop mate. On the other side of me, three teenagers argued about religion, their voices so loud, not even my music could drown them out.

I like the quiet weird people. They make my day a little less boring, and I can still get my editing done.

I wonder what else she had in all her bags.