Friday nights always find him wandering the aisles in search of someone
he knows. It isn’t really so pathetic. At times he
will see colleagues from the university where he teaches Biology,
sometimes even the occasional student will catch his attention.
He doesn’t mind talking to the students in this setting, in fact he
welcomes the opportunity to utilize his vocal cords with some
meaningless banter. He often worries that they could atrophy over
the weekends and especially on holidays from school; he frequently hums
or makes guttural noises just to keep them active. His body he
takes care of at the YMCA. Every day after his last class ends
and he is faced with the long evening ahead, he grabs his gym bag and
heads with energized purpose to his twenty minutes on the
Stairmaster. He isn’t lonely. His evenings can comfortably
be filled if he makes use of the amenities at Borders after his daily
work-outs.
It is really a come as you are establishment, which is comforting
because he is able to leave the gym in his shiny running shorts and
sweatshirt without hesitation. What a welcome break from the rather
staid attire that his profession requires. If he isn’t
particularly interested in striking up a conversation, he can wear his
walkman and listen to something uplifting. Should anyone glance
in his direction and wonder why he has been sitting in the Café area
for four hours this evening, he will be smiling pleasantly.
Occasionally, he can take a constitutional about the store, glancing
through the new titles and nodding appreciatively. He may make a
foray into the Self-Help section, but he certainly needn’t linger too
long. His is just a passing interest, after all. After the
refreshing turn about the store, he might return to the Café.
There is a shifting clientele to be observed, and that delightful new
Sun-Dried Tomato and Pesto personal pizza to sample. He can have
a cappuccino, an espresso if he is seeking that competitive edge, or
one of the seasonal lattes. Gingerbread is his favorite at
Christmastime.
When his thoughts become too invasive, he can saunter nonchalantly over
to the magazine section and pick a title that will prove him to be
erudite and highly educated to the outside observer. On such
occasions, The New Yorker is a fine choice. Should he hope to
appear well-traveled and exotic, anything by Conde Naste is a fabulous
selection. Then, he can sip his coffee over the glossy magazine
and appear lost in the printed word. He is not really
lonely. One never knows whom one will meet in the Café at
Borders; he is open to any interaction that presents itself.
Plus, they make a damn fine pot of Joe.
