We all have our own little places of refuge where we like to rail against the establishment (sorry Starbucks) and sit either with a book, laptop or a good friend and a nice quiet conversation. Mine happens to be the Mercury Dime on 5th street in the East Village just west of 2nd avenue. It's the cheers of coffee houses and it's tiny.The downstairs is typically the conversation room while the upstairs, home to only four tables, has become something reminiscent of study hall, people with books, laptops and earphones. It is the quiet room. I've been here for a few hours. The girl previously on my left seemed to be an Art History student studying for an exam and the guy across from me was diligently working away on his PC.
Then, for a little while, I found myself alone. I had come to the end of my existential crisis- the battle between my desire to stay self-employed (subsidized by the state of NY) while I look for more freelance writing work and the possibility of returning to the corporate world. A decision in the making stemming from one factor and one factor only...my declining bank account.
The last resume had been sent and finally, I was going to get some writing done. At least that's what I thought. Unfortunately, I was no sooner joined by a couple, possibly having an affair, he had a wedding ring on and trust me that's not his wife. No, there were no tell tale signs of an adulterous liason such as a carrying case for her whip and boots. Tell tale signs need not be that obvious. It was the desperation of her unfulfilled need and the sense that it was finally about to be filled. That and the way she looked at him. I haven't seen a wife look at a husband that way...ever. Now I'm pretty tolerant and would have no problems with the hushed whispers of longing and lamentations of time lost between these two unrequited lovers...
This however wasn't the case and they certainly never got the memo that 8th period study hall had already started. Instead, in the well supported voice of a trained thespian, she explained to the two of us (her partner and myself) how miserable she had been and that if she didn't miss him she wouldn't have continued to write to him.
In my high school days I never would have been one to hush those talking in class or study hall, primarily because I was the person doing the talking. But something shifted in me as I found myself hoping the teacher would ask them if they needed to be separated.
Discussions of their pain, his bookshelves being built in his upper west side apartment, the problem she had with what I assumed to be the book The Reader (which I couldn't seem to understand-it was too intellectual: not the book, the problem) and European travel were peppered with passionate kissing and conversations about his hair which she thought looked good. She thought it looked so good in fact she couldn't stop running her fingers through it.
These people were well in their 30's if not pushing 40. It was nice on some level to see 2 people have that much passion for one another. We all want that. But I'm not sure where these obviously well educated, well read people checked their common decency. Holding hands and smooching on the street corner for a bit, fine. Smooching on the second floor of the Mercury Dime while one person quietly watches, not so good.
Let me preface this by saying first, that I'm not a prude and second, that I don't have a particular problem with voyeurism or those who like to do the voyeuring. I certainly enjoying peering into lighted apartments in the evening to view the décor of a neighboring street level brownstone apartment or to get a glimpse of a designer kitchen that inspires envy even though I don't like to cook. But the whole idea of voyeurism is that the initiative to watch is on the part of the voyeur. I was forced into this voyeur role to the point where I was embarrassed for them.
I tried to amuse myself by recording some audio on my blackberry so that my texting companion could hear what I was describing. Luckily for them they lowered their voices at that same moment I hit record. Even luckier...they finally decided (perhaps prompted by my impulse to turn on Pandora in an effort to drown them out) to go see his bookshelves before I could take video footage.
I have no idea what makes 2 grown people not at all care that they are putting themselves out there in front of one spectator who didn't plan on buying a ticket to their show. I was so privy, practically invited into their intimacy, that on their way out, I thought of wishing them well in general as well as with his bookshelves which, from what I understood, seemed to be an ordeal to have constructed.
I'm almost offended that they didn't at least acknowledge me with a goodbye, a nod of the head or a shameful smile as they left. They shared some personal things with me; they could at least share some respect for what we had together. Honestly, I feel a little dirty.
I did learn 2 things though. Geeks are passionate people too and Pandora comes in really handy when trying to make the point that certain people might want to take their conversations elsewhere.
