Breakfast & Me

There are certain times when you just DON’T bother someone: while performing brain surgery, for instance. Or a really intense nap. During these times, people put up an invisible DO NOT DISTURB sign, and, unless your hair is on fire and they’re holding a hose, you leave them well alone.
I have recently become quite fascinated by people’s need for alone time. Those most successful in producing some good ol’ quiet time are those that make a general announcement, like, “I am going in my room and shutting the door. If anyone opens and/or knocks on said door, I will break them in two.” See, now I’m not going to bother that person. Ever.
But the line between bothering and being friendly becomes significantly ambiguous when people decide to have alone time in a public area.
Take the Pryz, for instance. Every morning between my first two classes, I set up camp at a table in the cafeteria where I can eat my eggs and do my philosophy homework. It’s not lame, it’s not lonely – I’m hanging out with Descartes and, let me tell you, he is a chatterbox. People are always friendly: they stop by and tell me a great weekend anecdote, maybe a knock-knock joke, but the true friends either keep their distance or sit down but let me do my work anyway. Yes, these people are the gems. Thank you.
But I never realized what everyone else does as I sit and finish my work. Last week I completed my homework early and decided to do some quality staring into space. It was marvelous, but I couldn’t help but notice how awkward people got as they passed my little table for one. I wondered if I smelled, so I did what any normal human being would do, I sniffed my general space. Nope, still smellin’ like roses. I wondered if maybe I had ink on my face, so I checked in the reflection of my spoon. I was ink free.
Then it dawned on me. I was the town leaper. Or, at least everyone thought I was the town leaper. People were acting weird because I was sitting alone. Okay, and smelling myself, but before that I was acting perfectly normal.
I shrugged off the embarrassment and looked around, curious as to what I had been missing when I was buried in my Plato. A girl made eye contact with me, looked down, looked at the ceiling, and then looked back at me and gave me the most awkward smile of all time. Awesome. One boy I knew from a class last semester gave me almost the exact same smile, turned around, and took a different route to his table of friends (who were right next to me). I have to admit, I was amazed. So I sit by myself for forty-five minutes each morning. Pretty much every other hour of my day, I’m surrounded by people that I have to pay attention and talk to – it can get exhausting!
My point is, don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t try to make awkward conversation. If a conversation begins with, “Hey! How are you?” “Good!” “That’s good! I’m good, too!” then it should probably end there as well. And please don’t invite me to join anymore clubs or sororities or fraternities because you think I need to make friends. And (maybe this reflects upon my fashion choices, but) please don’t tell me where the nearest homeless shelter is or put change in my cup! I’m not friendless or homeless or anything of the sort. But if you still want to give me money, just put it directly in my bank account, thanks.
We all need alone time. And we all need to respect each other’s alone time.
But seriously. I’m not homeless.