In the Ratty

I've always believed myself to be brave when it comes to people…I can't be
called shy by any stretch of the imagination. I go up to strangers at
concerts and parties and introduce myself, often causing them to run away.
Well…I haven't had that happen yet. I'm not even sure if that happens, but
I guess I don't want to find out. So what's the point? Well, I was in the
Ratty (pardon…Sharpe Refectory) at 4:30 on Thursday September 10. I got
the benefits of some sort of pasta promotion as I came in the door…in the
form of a ravioli (yes…one) and three tortellini. I shrugged and put it on
my tray along with two fresh new notebooks (always inspiring) and a book
I'd bought. The book was titled "Naked", and had a pair of boxer shorts on
the cover. I was having difficulties deciding whether this was something I
wanted people to see. I wasn't too hungry, so I got a piece of pizza, but
it was a corner piece so some little part of me got kind of excited,
because I like crust. I felt adventurous, so I checked out the shake
machine. I pushed in the little button that said "coffee" and let some of
the stuff drip out to clear out any strawberry residue from the previous
user. I tasted it and it was vanilla. That's ok…it was sweet and creamy,
and a nice cold temperature. I also got some Sprite, a drink which I'm
convinced tastes so much better on tap compared to cans and bottles. So, I
meander around various islands of ice cream toppings and salads to go in
the back room, where it isn't so obvious if you're alone, and you can read
in peace somewhat. On my way there, I pass this guy sitting at the first
table. He was probably about 6'0", had short blond wavy/curly hair, and
glasses. He was wearing a white button down shirt, black pants, and shiny
black shoes. He looked like he needed a hug. I ended up sitting across the
room from him, so I could read and observe him at the same time. He
absent-mindedly banged the end of his pizza crust on his plate…as if he
were trying to think of something. I tried to read my book and not stare.
I'm sure that if I stare long enough he could feel my eyes drilling into
him, but I don't need to be accused of such voyeurism. He got up, and I
secretly hoped he wasn't leaving. He came back with a bowl of potato
chips. He ate them with thoughtful melancholy, and I kept thinking "What
could I say to him…I know I wouldn't care if someone I didn't know came
and sat with me and tried to engage me in conversation. However, I'm so
abnormal anyway." He was drinking milk now…that struck me as cute for some
reason, as if I expect everyone to abandon nutritious habits once they
leave home, and to stick to them is amusing and adorable. He probably
sends a Valentine's card to his mom.  I got up and got myself a bowl of
Frosted Mini-Wheats. I grinned at him as I walked past. He probably thinks
I'm weird now. I suppose watching people and trying to guess what they are
like makes me weird anyway. I went back to my book, and when I looked up
he had left. I sighed, and since I had nothing left to do and I had
somewhere to be at 5:00, I walked out, grabbing a hermit on the way. Now I
sit here alone again, the taste of molasses and raisins on my tongue,
wondering what the next exciting thing to happen to me will be.