People watching? Don't mind if I do...

One of my favorite things to do is watch people. Sitting in thoughtful observation provides tons of entertainment, and even some valuable life lessons. Right? I mean, how can it not?!? We are an interesting species, and can be damn funny. For me, people watching speaks to our connectedness. We're all in this together. Plus it's a hobby you can take pretty much anywhere. A bar is one of the most fertile fields for people watching...even better, a bar with live music. Nothing screams "hey y'all, watch this" like the combination of alcohol and live music. It's the perfect storm. Most of the time, you see people going through the motions in shades of pale...all normal and mundane. Every now and then, you may be lucky enough to catch someone in a flash of vivid color - even if it's just a small glimpse. When I come across someone like that, I can't help but wonder...what's their story? I'm not here to judge or criticize. It's curiosity...what makes them tick? I'm fascinated.

Fittingly enough, this flash of color took place at the House of Blues in Chicago. For me, it was the last night of a girls' weekend, and we were all going our separate ways the next morning. We went in for a low key, "can't-go-to-bed-at-10pm-on-our-last-night-here" drink. The band had just ended their first set, and the last of the dinner crowd were finishing their meals. There was an ordinary couple sitting at a table just across from our booth. The guy - let's call him Beige - sat with his back to us, facing the (very tiny) dance floor. From the back, Beige looked to be in his 50's with thinning hair, and average build. At first glance, the woman - we'll call her Magenta - seemed bored. She was probably in her 40's, pleasant looking. She wore her shoulder length,dirty blond hair in bangs and layers. They were both dressed casually in jeans. They had finished dinner, and Magenta also sat facing the danced floor. She would turn toward the table once in a while and poke at the lemon in her glass with the straw. Finally she pulled the wedge of lemon out of the glass and set it on the coaster. It was a big glass. At that point, I though it was a glass of water with lemon. Later, I imagined it to be a giant gin and tonic.

As soon as the band came back from break, the place became a people watcher's smorgasbord...a veritable rainbow. It was hard to focus on just one spot. When I became distracted by all of the other options, Magenta showed up on the dance floor. She was doing a kind of pole dance with one of the columns that flanked the band. One of my friends had to point her out because all you could see were her arms hugging and caressing the column from the other side. Pretty soon, she wrapped a leg around the column. Beige, still in his chair, didn't flinch. I drifted off into distraction, again, when Magenta appeared on the wheelchair ramp across the room. She rode the railing like a wild ballet barre. No reaction from Beige.

Magenta wore herself out and came back to the table just before the band went on break - or maybe Beige shot a look that prompted her to sit down. She didn't stop dancing, though. I admired her uninhibited, drunken joy, and it was some of the best chair dancing I've seen. Beige sat motionless, still facing the band. I guess Magenta had worked up a sweat, because she pulled her sweater off over her head and tied it around her neck - preppy style. She wore a modest tank top under the sweater - or maybe it was an undershirt. Magenta sat for a moment, taking stock of her new look. Then, as if something still wasn't quite right, she lifted an elbow over her head, sniffed one armpit, then the other. She grabbed the lemon wedge from the table and rubbed it vigorously under each arm. She put the lemon back on the coaster and swiped her palms together in a gesture of satisfactory completion, as if to say, "There now, that's better."
I don't think Beige even noticed her lemony freshness. Maybe it was just something she did on occasion....

The waitress brought a piece of cake with a candle to the table and set it down in front of Magenta. She clapped her hands and tapped her feet with excitement. We didn't hear the waitress or Beige sing Happy Birthday, but Magenta didn't even seem to notice. She and Beige shared the piece of cake without speaking. The waitress brought the check. Beige put cash into the folder, and left the table for a few minutes. Magenta went through the money that Beige had left for the bill. She took some out and put it in her purse. Beige returned, and off they went...leaving us to wonder, but laughing too hard to really care.

Note to self: When life hands you lemons, freshen up.

Thanks for reading my post...and thank you Kathleen for pushing me in.