The Old Man at Panera

Hemingway would’ve left him at sea, with dignity...

I’ve become a regular at Panera Bread, in Shrewsbury. Free WiFi. Free change of scenery from the house, on the days when I’m not networking or interviewing. THANK GOD, there’s been a lot of that over the last few weeks. Anyway-this is a great place to people watch, and to speculate on the back story of strangers.

There’s this old man who sits in one of the overstuffed leather chairs here, in front of the gas fireplace. The fireplace that in reality throws off no heat, just there for aesthetic purposes yet people feel warmer sitting in front of it. The old man though...watch cap, pea coat. Looks like a deck hand from a merchant ship. Short, slightly hunched, thick fingers. Looks like he spent many years huddled against the cold, crouched over to light his unfiltered Lucky’s. Looks lonely, his lined face peering up from underneath that knit cap with what appears to be a scowl, although it could just as easily be the hard set of a taciturn jaw. Rarely talks to anyone, just sits and sips his coffee for a while. Who is he? Where does he go when he leaves here? Maybe he’s in mourning, lost the love of his life and is now just running out the clock. Or maybe he lost his love of life, the joy long gone, and comes here because it’s as good as anywhere else....

Over there, the middle-aged woman still carrying the long curly girly hair of her youth, the streaks of gray prominent in the track lighting. Denial or total self-actualization? Could go either way. Is she an old hippie, or maybe a strident feminist still holding fast to the ideals of her youth? Maybe she just likes the way she looks and doesn’t give a shit what anyone else thinks. I sorta hope that’s the case, actually...

Med students scattered about, thick books in front of them opened, struggling not to nod off on the table. Many of them Indian or Arabic-looking, the hardworking children of immigrants or immigrants themselves, here for the education and opportunity. I wish I’d had their discipline when I was in school. They somehow seem older than their years, the rigors of med school and residential rotations adding weight and gravity to their profiles. One of these strangers could save your life, or mine, one day.

Over in the booths, office mates sharing an informal dinner together. Office talk, small talk, nothing deeper than where to get the best oil change and how busy things are at work these days. Teenagers behind them, earnestly making plans for their band, for life after high school. The world still bright and full of possibilities for them, laid out at their feet like a willing mistress just wanting to be treated right. I miss those days...

And me...dressed up from the interview earlier today. Iced green tea, per usual. Laptop open, surfing the net, surfing for potential leads. Long over the fear and worry, knowing that the next opportunity is coming soon. Still, I feel like a ghost, riding the rails of society’s fringe, a voyeur. Observing people, making mental notes, wondering who they are and what they do, what makes them tick. What makes me tick. We are all characters in some cosmic play, each of us assigned a role only we can play. Some of us take on more roles as we go through life, actors pretending to be ?? Or maybe it’s always the same role, shaded differently depending on circumstance. I only know how to be me, but the me with infinite variations. Today the introspective observer, tomorrow the extroverted visionary. Which one gets the job?