At Mother and Father Blonde’s for Thanksgiving. As per usual, I’ve slipped out to Barnes and Noble for a late night cup of coffee. Nothing going on in the cafe tonight. Two Thanksgiving visits ago I was here and reported in with this post, Generations talking past each other, about a couple of middle-aged men I spied on who seemed determined to make a young woman feel bad about her new job. I was back the following night and eavesdropped on another conversation between some young women that was not interrupted by any middle-aged men raining on their parades.
November 27, 2010. Back at B&N tonight.
Yes, I enjoy my relatives’ company. Why do you ask?
Back at Barnes and Noble, another table full of college women nearby.
I was here first, by the way. I just attract them. It’s my animal magnetism or the fact that at this rolling time of year every other table is crowded with college students home from the holidays.
Four college women at this nearby table. No middle-aged men around to rain on their parade, unless you count me, but I’m being invisible. Four women, four separate colleges, and they haven’t seen each other since school started, so there’s lots of news to be exchanged. News being exchanged at the moment is of professors they have crushes on.
I think one of the crushes is serious.
She makes a point of referring to him as “Jim.” There are instructors, grad assistants, and plenty of professors who encourage their students to call them by their first names. I don’t think many of them imagine their names crop up so frequently or emphatically in their students’ conversations with friends. Jim’s name is cropping up a lot, as in:
I hope “Jim isn’t”, as in “Jim isn’t married.”
I also hope “Jim doesn’t,” as in “Jim doesn’t look like Wallace Shawn.”