Yogahead in the Coffeehouse
In a previous installment, I bemoaned the fact that my wireless Internet connection went down. (Maybe I shouldn’t go for the public confessional here, but whoever I was piggybacking on somehow disappeared and went AWOL) so here I am back to a dial-up connection, and let me say that it has been one long foray into Internet hell. If I am not waiting for something to connect, I am worried about getting another $200.00 bill from my last venture into dial up.
Tiring of the whole short-lived episode, this prompted me to seek comfort in coffee shops, the auto mechanic’s, and other places where I can connect to another poor soul’s wireless connection. The problem with going out is that you not only get exposed to other people’s errant two-year-olds and germs like when they sneeze and fail to cover their mouth but to a lot of errant weirdoes that make waiting for a dial up connection look like Nirvana.
One particular person, who I will call Exhibit A, was eating a bag of chips and bobbing his head to (what I imagined) was wearing earphones and bobbing his head to what I assumed was music when he saw me cleaning my keyboard with an eyebrow brush.
“That’s a good idea,” he said to me removing his headphones.
“Yes,” I said, “It comes in handy for hard to remove grease, lint and grime.”
“I’ll have to try it,” he said.
“I use a Mac cosmetic brush from Nordstrom’s,” I said, “but I’m sure you can find a cheaper one for removing lint at an art supply store like Michael’s.”
The first time I ran into him in that godforsaken coffeehouse, I found out some basic facts about Exhibit A, which only shows that we all aspire to our own version of “normal” regardless of how left of center it is. He loves music, he thinks I am strange for not wanting to listen to it 24/7, he likes to live cheaply, and for some strange reason, he thought I needed a yoga and meditation and bad, too.
During our second happenstance meeting, which was a one-way ticket to coffeehouse hell, he told me that he never got to know his parents and finds me judgmental, which brings me to my second point about judging people. Anyone who tells you you’re judgmental is judgmental himself, and anyone who has not somehow settled his relationship with his parents is not exactly going to be the Ward Cleaver of the dating world.
When I told him I thought he was being judgmental, he got up and left apparently without even forgiving me or wishing me a namaste or any of those other yoga-like things.
Which brings me to my next point about people who think that yoga and meditation are the answer to all of life’s woes. You could drop an anvil on their feet and they would smile and forgive and say it’s all good without even yelling or swearing or anything. It’s all a front. It is not all good and sometimes you have to grow a spleen and get mad. I thought about what my life would be like if I didn’t get incensed about something at least once every five minutes. I would probably spend my afternoons playing bridge or making potholders at a country club and develop ulcers and wind up in intensive care. I would also have nothing to say or write about and no one to irritate or annoy. Life would be one dull, endless round of Wonder Bread, instant oatmeal and decaf coffee, though it may help cure my newfound nervous twitch.
Thank you, amen and over and out.