Observations [I.]

“There’s one in Venice,” the barista explained to the woman in the black wide-brimmed hat. She wore a long gingham overcoat and fluffy platform slippers, a suspicious outfit for what was shaping up to be a warm, sunny day on the coast. Even more suspicious, the giant sunglasses that obscured most of her face, which she left on even inside the cafe. Likely some local celebrity. 

Her back was to me most of the time so I couldn’t hear what she was asking about, but to whatever she said next the barista replied, “Yeah you should definitely check it out, it’s a special spot!” Despite it being none of my business, I had nothing better to do while waiting for my coffee than wonder about this infamous location they were discussing. My detective skills told me that this lady likely had more expertise in the Venice, Italy area than the young guy with the nose ring and finger tattoos, so they must be referring to Venice, California. 

She muttered something again, and this time he hesitated with his mouth open before replying. “Well, I’m actually not sure.” My interest in the conversation was fading as quickly as it had been piqued and thankfully, my name was called by the other barista as she set my drink on the counter. 

“Thank you,” I said with a smile, glancing sideways at the incognito customer while grabbing my humble cappuccino, then meandering outside the cafe to settle down at a metal table and set up shop for the next couple of hours. 

It was a little bit breezy out there but a perfect temperature to enjoy my hot drink, which unfortunately did not stay hot long enough for me to finish it at my notorious snails pace of coffee sipping. I knew I should have brought my steel thermos. The day did not end up being all that conducive to productive work, but certainly to productive people watching; wide-brimmed hat woman was just the beginning.

Now, I promise I’m not the weird eavesdropper or stalker that this makes me sound like. I’m an artist. If that word alone doesn’t trigger the, “oh, then it all makes sense” thought, let me explain. My work is nonexistent without movement in the world. The movement of treetops as squirrels crawl along branches and ripples in huge puddles formed by pouring rain are nice subject matter, but the most provocative and interesting movement is that of humans. The ones who can both mess everything up and make everything better, but never know which of the two they are doing at any given moment. I can picture the utter humanity in the shock on a little boy’s face when he shoots a bebe gun into the sky and can’t believe he actually hit the squirrel. But there it is, fallen too great a distance and the boy doesn’t know if he should feel victorious as a sharp-shooter or guilty as a killer of innocents. Or the fury of a business professional on her way to an important presentation when, after managing to stay dry under her umbrella the whole half mile from her apartment to her office, gets hit sidelong by the aggressive splash of an Escalade’s tire through the puddle as it comes to a sharp halt just ahead of her. Her boss climbs out of the back seat, steps onto the curb as the chauffeur holds an umbrella over his head, and laughs at her, soaked before him. 

There’s just no limit on creativity when it comes to human beings, even if you see them exactly as they are with no alterations to appearance, character, or speech. Humans just as they are are infinitely interesting, and become infinitely more so when you see the good and bad of them as part of the art of being human. A day of sitting outside a coffee shop yields so much inspiration it is paralyzing. 

“Aw, we’ve never hugged before.” I could go so many directions after hearing that statement by the girl to my right in the baggie jeans. Or there’s the child running up and down the sidewalk with her sweatshirt sleeves flopping loosely, stretched past her fingertips. The dichotomy of the gym bro with AirPods glued into his ears and a giant, sugar-loaded latte in his phone-free hand. I don’t know how many people came in and out of the coffee shop during my time outside of it; I wish I had counted. The most fascinating thing though is simply that they were all real people. They existed on their own this morning, decided for one reason or another to come buy a coffee and were real in front of me for those fleeting moments, then they continued on with their days and continue to be real, to exist in their own habits and responsibilities although I can no longer observe them. Their movement is real, and the ripples they create in the world and might never think about are real. The seven dollars they each contributed to the cafe’s revenue this morning are real, and the dirt they left on the floor mat is real, too. Am I the only one whose mind is blown by the simplicity of it? 

After all this talk about real life and real people though, here’s a curve ball: the woman with the wide-brimmed hat was actually not real. I made her up.