My forehead was in the exact right place to be smacked by a rogue sprayer head as I was winding up the hose.
I arrived at the pharmacy counter exactly one second behind a man who spent 30 minutes arguing with the tech.
When I came back to pick up my prescription, the security gate was just being pulled down for a lunch closure.
Because I went to put my laptop down at a table before ordering coffee at my favorite cafe, I ended getting in line behind a woman who held up the lone barista for 15 minutes with questions about the room rental agreement.
I feel a bit like Daisy from The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, but you know, without the career ending injury.
Spending such long periods of time standing around did afford me a perfect opportunity to people watch. I’m not one to judge on physical appearances. Instead of looking at “fat” or “thin”, I look at behavior and body language. Always with the same question, are they card carrying members of my dysfunctional little club?
I watched a woman eat a giant cookie while standing in line at the café. She made a beeline for the bathroom after ordering; reappearing a few minutes later with red eyes, hand already reaching for her quad-shot Americano. Is she recovering from today’s local triathlon, refueling a depleted body? Or is her behavior the sign of something more. If I pressed my ear to the cold particle board of the bathroom door would I hear sticky sins being passed through lips, down the toilet and out to sea?
Everyone has potential. The girl at the salad bar, placing each vegetable with care, is she just health conscious or currently following the ABC diet? The waif thin boy, pouring over food labels, trying to bulk up or trying to reach an impossible GW? I wonder what they think when they look at me. Does anyone see the tall, heavyset girl and think I bet she hasn’t eaten in three days. I bet she is hollow on the inside, broken like me.