People Watching

For as long as I can remember I’ve been a people watcher. Those who follow the beat of a different drummer particularly enthrall me. I don’t necessarily want to emulate them or pick up their customs as my own, but still the actions of some individuals throw me off guard and captivate me.

For instance the other night I went into a convenient store, and there was a shirtless teenager reminiscent of Ashton Kutcher in front of me. This was obviously his primary shopping stop for groceries. I deduced this by his familiarity with the employees, his discount card and the discussion regarding a particular brand of cigarettes. The items being placed into the environmentally unfriendly plastic bags were powdered donuts, combos, some type of cheese chips, an ice cream bar, a liter of soda and a loaf of white bread. To his dismay the convenience store did not carry cheese singles. I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for him thinking he’s not going to have that body for long, or rather revere him for possessing a stomach of steel. I was thinking of the advanced yogi who could eat nails.

When at the grocery store I’m often observing others’ purchases. There are the what I refer to as absolute “food junkies,” those who fill their carts high with junk food. They obviously save time by altogether eliminating the fruit and vegetable isle. If any women are looking single men can readily be found congregating in the frozen food isle or packaged meat section. The husbands usually are on the cell phone asking now what am I supposed to get. This scenario is more prevalent around holidays, I’ve noticed. Then there are those who are trying to make healthy choices but are new to the scene. Recently a twenty something girl with her younger sister came up to me asking me to help them pick out a cantaloupe, as it was their first time. They were obviously doing some shopping cart watching of their own.

Several years back I could sit on my father’s front porch and watch one of his neighbors. She had OCD (obsessive compulsion disorder). Her house was said to be immaculate, although no one ever went in. I would observe her working out in the yard. The grass was mowed down to the seed, and trees were trimmed bare. I watched her work tirelessly moving her ladder from window to window as she cleaned. I had some company coming and thought I really need a professional to clean my house. Although, she didn’t clean others’ houses for a living I still asked her for a one-time job, to which she after some debate relented to doing. I wanted her to start at the back of the house in the bathroom and work her way forward; but she couldn’t get past the kitchen where she entered my house. After a couple of hours I urged her to move on to the rest of the house. At this point my very small kitchen was certainly clean enough for me. This happened throughout the rest of the day as I would say, okay, this room is clean enough, can we work on another one? On another occasion I asked her to come back, but she replied that my house had put her in bed for a day. I had thought about asking her to clean my dad’s house, but that would have surely put her in the hospital.

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