On Saturday morning, I nipped out to one of my favorite stops for breakfast – the Cutchogue Diner.
I like to sit at the counter when there is space available. You get to listen to snippets of the lives around you and don’t have to bother with polite eye contact. People are more free with their words when they don’t think anyone is listening. Eye contact gives the game away and removes some of that anonymity.
Most people wouldn’t openly tell a stranger about their troubling family situations, love lives or talk about money. But in their comfort-bubble while staring in to a familiar face across the table, they forget everyone else can hear what they’re saying. Especially in a small diner car.
Now, I know what you’re going to say – eavesdropping is rude. And you’re probably right. But I can’t seem to shut my ears off. The songs of other peoples lives just seem to find their way in. When I’m sitting alone at the counter with my back to the rest of the diner, I don’t get to see who is saying what. And it really doesn’t matter. It’s all just curious notes from an anonymous symphony going on around me.