First, there's coffee! The better to be alert and aware of thugs or pick-pockets that may--though probably aren't--abound! Second, the high trafficked times are usually lunch, which is when I usually avoid this area. Third, there's such a big line of vending machines that I can choose from, so I don't have to walk from building to building or floor to floor looking for the right Chex Mix. It's the perfect place for me--especially since my old haven, the old study room on third, was renovated. Everyone feels better in a room with fresh paint--calm colors as to encourage studying--and where the stinky, old chairs are replaced with spanking new squabs that don't feel greasy and aren't shaped properly for me to create a me-zied crib.
I found this place just in time.
But it comes with faults. For one, it's too small. Sometimes, despite avoiding the high-trafficked times, I can't get a table because all ten are taken, mostly by single seaters who have spread their stuff out so they clearly need that table for four. The tables are also too close together. I have to think critically about which side to sit on in order to avoid awkward eye-contact with the person in the table right across from yours. Only this doesn't always work out, and often, I'll be typing my symposium and stare off into space for inspiration, before I'll realize that I've been staring at the boy at the table in front of me. He'll shoot me an angry glance at being so penetrating in my stare, but he won't say anything. He'll just pierce my soul. So I try my best to catch the two-seater tables off to the wall, or I'll hide behind my laptop as much as I can, but it doesn't always work.
I hadn't realized by I was sitting so long in the basement cafe area that it became one of those high-trafficked times.
People frighten me. Especially talkative people going out to go eat lunch who are in college so they're--yes me too--obnoxiously loud in order to be impressive*. The only table I could get at this time was a four-seater, so I spread my stuff out like a hypocrite and ducked behind my laptop.
Only, I guess this is normal, when the entire seating are became busy and full of people trying to use the microwave and the vending machines, I started to notice people randomly going to the four-seaters and asking to sit down. These were usually okay-ed and the two strangers sat uncomfortably close yet somewhat comfortable.
I was starting to feel affronted that no one had asked me if they could sit here, and as if by magic, an Asian girl came up to my table. She was holding tupperware and her backpack. With a slight accent she asked if she could sit here. Cheerily I told her yes and scooted my mess towards me.
This was great! I thought. Maybe we could start talking and maybe this won't be awkward and I'd have someone to watch my stuff for when I went to get coffee!
Turns out she didn't need my company. Just the space I provided. Her friend sat down next to her and popped open his tupperware of grapes. They started to speak to each other in another language. That's nice, I thought. More people, the more legitimate my table was. No more stank eyes from the jealous people looking for a spot, standing a foot in front of me with their steaming microwaveable meals.
But I started to notice. They were talking about me. I'd sneak glances above the top of my screen. I'd catch their eyes ever so briefly before they dropped their own out of being noticed I'm sure. They were speaking in their language, gesturing slightly to a small table over my shoulder. I snuck a look over there. The guy was about to leave. The boy in front of me pointed.
How rude! I let them sit with me!
I took out a few of my notebooks and spread them out on my side. I claimed my presence there.
Then they started to giggle. The boy threw his arm over the girl. He fed her a grape. She spooned some yogurt into his mouth. They spoke in a language I didn't understand and giggled. She stole a kiss.
Oh they were good. Clearly, they were trying to scare me off my own table! Clearly they were being mushy and disgusting on purpose! Who does that when a stranger is a foot away from you?
I pulled up my Facebook and wrote to Samantha of this injustice. She replied back:
That didn't seem remotely helpful but weirdly genius.
I was thinking how, I was talking myself out of it, I was literally laughing out loud to the message.
That's when the couple stopped. They stood up. I looked to where they were headed: that small table for two at the corner.
I could move! I told them. I'm only one person and that's such a small table! I told them.
They smiled and shook their heads and laughed at my response. No. They were going to be couply over there. They were going to feed yogurt in peace.
Shucks.
*an impression that is created because we talk about philosophy and sociology days on end so we think we're profound.