Observations From the Eating Area At Whole Foods
Episode 1: Denim Guy and Non-Loneliness
I’m looking at a huge floor to ceiling window that’s just behind a two person table at Whole Foods Market. A sad looking guy is sitting by himself at the table. He’s in his mid-fifites. He has somewhat scraggly, salt and pepper, shoulder length hair. A thick rubber band nestled against the upper portion of his neck holds the far woolen end of his mane tightly in place. His sloppy gray gotee is somehow appropriately groomed. He’s overweight. He leans back in his chair and his bulging stomach protrudes just a bit further than I would expect it to. He wears a black tee shirt neatly covered by a long sleeve denim button up. He’s got a cup of coffee on the table, just within reach of a surprisingly small and gentle right hand. He seems lonely. He’s Denim Guy.
Two younger guys just sat down at the table next to him. I heard one of them say, “chicken tikka masala”. He’s wearing bright yellow Asics sneakers that clash with his slim fit, brush cotton, navy pants; his black, sporty fleece; and his pink-pale complexion. He’s certainly twenty seven years old, yet a balding, exposed frontal lobe makes him look at least thirty seven. He’s Yellow Sneaker Guy. The other guy is skinny. He has a healthy head of hair sculpted into a tight fade. He’s wearing an army green hoodie. He’s munching on a regal slice of pepperoni pizza. The dark yellow cheese looks more like cheddar than mozzarella and is stunning. The blood red charcuterie is salute worthy. Well played Whole Foods. Well played. I like this guy much better than his counterpart.
Great news! Another patron just sat down at the table with Denim Guy. Denim Guy isn’t lonely afterall. His caffeine-centric drinking buddy is nursing a sixteen ounce bottle of Coca-Cola with six finger tips gently pressed up against the very bottom of the plastic bottle. Its a peculiar, delicate way to support a stable bottle of Coke, yet I’m sure I’ve done it a thousand times. If I were to combine Denim Guy’s thirty two once coffee and the other guy’s sixteen ounce Coke, I wonder how much caffeine would be in there? The other guy is typically-American-middle aged overweight but not nearly as heavy as Denim Guy. He’s sporting a well-worn, red and white baseball cap on and he’s rocking a gray Puma sweatsuit partially concealed by a charcoal, down vest. He has an old school, single ear, bluetooth, cell phone headset in his left ear and he’s also wearing black, dad-like sneakers. I can’t see the brand, but I would be shocked if there’s not a large N stitched onto the far side of each sneaker. He’s in his late fifties/early sixties. He’s the kind of guy that must be older than he looks. He and Denim Guy are talking. They seem happy. They seem to be genuinely enjoying the conversation.
Yellow Sneaker Guy holds his cell phone up against his left ear. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention to the guy on the other end of the line but I am. I can hear the other guy’s voice through the cell phone’s speaker. There’s too much background noise to be able to ascertain exactly what he’s saying.
I can also hear Denim Guy’s enthusiastic voice. When I look away from the scene to type on my iPad, it almost sounds like Denim guy is having an audible conversation with the dude on the other end of Yellow Sneaker Guy’s phone. I think the guy on the phone and Denim Guy could be good friends. I wish I could introduce them.
Yellow Sneaker Guy and his friend just stood up. They must have finished the chicken tikki masala and the pizza. A moment ago his friend quietly took their garbage over to the compost, recycling and trash center. They quickly walk away and exit the store. Thanks for the memories boys.
Denim Guy and his friend are still chatting enthusiastically. I think I just heard Denim Guy say the word “pulmonology”. He has a smile on his face, so I’ll belay concern that he might be discussing personal health problems. It’s time to move on. These guys are going to be here a lot longer then I will today.
