A Conversation Overheard

I live in a very small apartment. I will take almost any excuse to leave my apartment for a few hours at a time. The exception to this rule of course is social situations. I tend to stay away from unknown social situations, because I am generally a person who enjoys my personal space. There are obvious exceptions to this rule which do not necessarily entail unknown social situations. I digress.

On this particular diversion from my claustrophobic quarters I went to Borders to peruse the magazines to look for a job. I decided after hearing David Quammen speak in one of my classes today that I might look into publishing in the field of magazines. I wanted to get a visual representation of what I should look for exactly. I spent an hour looking at magazines, and listening in on two different conversations between my own conversation with my friend’s fiancé that works as a barista at the coffee shop that is attached to the store. One of the conversations I was eavesdropping on was about dam building. I am not saying that dam building isn’t an interesting subject, but it was excruciatingly boring.

A man sat on a bench in the magazine section reading what appeared to be an automotive magazine. I heard his phone ring while I perused a copy of National Geographic. His ringtone appeared to be “Cherry Pie,” by Warrant. I assumed he either was dating a stripper and wanted a song that reminded him of her the first time he met her, or he had some odd affinity with an otherwise horrible song. From here on out I will refer to the man as Rick. This could, or could not be his name. It doesn’t really matter to me, but the pronouns seem a bit impersonal for the purposes of this writing.

After listening to most of “Cherry Pie,” Rick picked up his cell phone. The conversation started out nice enough. I did not dictate the actual conversation so here is what I remember; it is not a word, for word transcription, but pretty darn close. Some embellishments I am sure have been made because of my nature. “Hey babe. How are you? I had a mocha. Just reading about Chevy Big Blocks.” But quickly it turned into something rather different. I started hearing phrases thrown about like “Well when you get off work tonight I’ve got a big surprise for you.” My curiosity was naturally peaked because maybe she was getting a trip to Hawaii or something, which would be a pretty good surprise. My hopes of an island getaway for the young lady were soon dashed when he said something to the affect of “Yeah. Let’s just say I can’t talk about it right here. I might get in trouble.” Now my mind is racing towards thoughts of a murder plot, or a bank robbery. Both of which I would find as suitable entertainment substitutes for my rather dull, and boring day. Obviously had there actually been a murder plot I would have stepped in and garnered some sort of citizen’s bravery. Rick then went on to make suggestions that were not overtly sexual but seemed to have a sexual overtone in them. Things like “Yeah, I can imagine that right now,” or “Do you like it that way?” The conversation then took a turn towards the inevitable overtly sexual content.

I felt a little awkward, but I also felt like it was my right to listen to it, because it was in the public sphere. Rick had a friend who was waiting for him in the coffee shop that he joined immediately after his conversation with his stripper girlfriend ended. I can only assume that his friend was not allowed to be privy to this information but somehow total strangers were. I guess this makes sense; maybe his stripper girlfriend was actually the wife of the friend he was meeting for coffee in Borders? I felt like I had to wait out the conversation; I had to know where it was going. It was like waiting for the end of a roller coaster. When you are waiting in line you can see where the track goes and as you get closer you can estimate what the ride is going to be like, but you don’t really know. You have to take that leap, and wait out the line, and experience it for yourself. Often times it is disappointing, but in the end you accomplished something.

The roller coaster is not only an apt metaphor for this odd conversation I had overheard but I think it holds true to my own life. I want to be a writer but often times my stories evoke something grand when I think them up in my head, or even when I am able to coerce the story to a piece of paper every now and then, but in the end I keep just wishing I had looked for a real job instead. Not because I don’t enjoy writing, but rather, that I think there are people who have done it a lot better than I have. Maybe I just need to wait out the conversations, or the stories; even if they’re uncomfortable and wait for the right thing to come along. I hope that I can peruse the magazines again and find my job waiting for me the way this awkward conversation seemed to inevitably be waiting for me, but I think it is not that easy. I will have to work, and work hard. Hopefully it will pan out and the hard work will pay off, but I won’t know unless I wait it out.