Eating Alone

Most of the time, my job is pretty low-stress, but I definitely have days where I feel like everything is coming at me at once. Last Friday, I had a particularly overwhelming day. I was feeling exhausted and low on energy, and by the middle of the day I was not in the mood to chit-chat with my coworkers, or in fact with anyone. I immediately felt the need to get out of the office, so I headed over to Target during my lunch break, where I visited the snack bar for a drink and a little treat.

While standing in line, an older man--probably in his mid-70s--started talking with me. Though I usually welcome these friendly conversations with strangers, I was exhausted and in desperate need of some no-talk time. We chatted for just a bit, discovering our mutual love of Dr. Pepper. After filling up our drinks at the soda dispenser, he sat at his table and I sat at mine.

As I tried to enjoy the last few minutes of my break before heading back to the office, I watched the man across the room, slowly sipping his Dr. Pepper and watching the people around him. It occurred to me that he might be lonely, and that he might have wanted a friendly conversation. I only had about five minutes left before I had to leave, and I was just too tired that day to strike up another conversation (sometimes the introvert in me cannot muster any more talking after a day spent on the phone with clients). On another day, I might have walked over to his table and we could have talked. I imagined the conversations we might have, and what wisdom he might have imparted. What might we have talked about? What might I have learned?

This evening, I had the same experience of watching an older man sitting alone, drinking his soda, looking a bit lonely. Of course, this is not to say that these men were lonely--perhaps, like me, they were enjoying their moment of quiet, happily watching the people around them and content to have the time to themselves. But how strange it feels sometimes that we sit alone at tables, watching one another, wondering if the other might like company. In another time, it's quite possible that I would have talked to these men because I would have known their names. We would have lived in the same town, visited the same corner cafe, gone to the same church. Instead, we sit anonymously in chain restaurants, choosing to eat alone rather than walking up to the other and asking to share a table. I looked out the window and watched a person eating dinner in her car.

We learn at an early age not to talk to strangers, and of course there is some wisdom to that. But I'm thinking that maybe I should talk more to strangers. That the strangers I need to worry about are not the ones sitting in a public place during my lunch hour. That maybe it wouldn't hurt to sit across from the man trying to forge connections over a mutual liking of Dr. Pepper. That maybe I might learn a little something, or that it might even be something special.