Saturday afternoons when I escape from the house and set up shop at my favorite Starbucks, writing to my heart’s content while no one interrupts me by being my small child. As a result, I’m somewhat protective of my writing time on Saturday afternoons. It’s precious, it’s limited, and it’s the one time all week I am guaranteed to write until I feel done, as opposed to having to stop because someone needs something from me.
Invariably, though, there’s someone seated next to me at the Starbucks (sometimes even in my favorite comfy chair. Quel horreur!) who’s lonely and chats me up against my will. I just cannot fathom what about my laptop and refusal to make eye contact encourages these people to keep trying to talk to me, but still it happens. Every freaking Saturday.
I’m normally a very friendly person. I’ve even been called a human Labrador. But on Saturdays? I’m rude. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t want you to talk to me, and I would appreciate it very much if you would stay the heck out of my favorite comfy chair.
I should feel bad about this. I should. I should want to give comfort and fellowship to these poor lonely people, and yet I find myself with a profound lack of remorse.
Then again, shouldn’t they feel bad for foisting conversation upon someone who so clearly doesn’t want it? Isn’t there a reasonable expectation of leave-me-alone when someone’s parked behind a laptop at a coffee shop?