I like hte idea of being a regular.
Your drink or meal or laundry set out for you like they knew exaclty how you wanted it. Mostly becasue you have been coming to that bar, booth or store front for the last few months at the same time.
It's not really a rut, it is just consistency as the world around you falls apart.
Well, today I say fuck you to being a regular. I recenlty had my entire idea of how to conduct a producctive work day turned upside down when a fellow factory lineman told me that there were time he would jsut leave the office to hang out at the library, coffee shop or even occasional greasy spoon joint.
"Wait, you jsut leave the office and don't do any work? How do you meet deadlines or get your widgets screwed tightly on those adverbs?"
"I do the work," he said. "I take a laptop and a cell phone and get my work done much faster than I would in the office with all the distractions..."
So today I did my own little experiement; stealing away to the Central Research Library of the county. The rich kids library.
At 1 p.m. it was the wildest library I have ever been in. And, let me tell you, I have been in some wild libraries.
There were people everywhere.
An old many relcining reading a book, probably a Grisham or Clancy. A middled aghed hippies looking dude who was glued to his overly-fancy lap top. Probably a computer porgramer looking for an escape from his own office.
When we made eye contact from across the study room, we would nod and then shiftly go back to what we were doing - fearing, it seemed - that this stranger could somehow rat us out to the authorities.
"Is this the foreman at the Factory? Yes, well, I jsut saw one of you men reading a book down here at the library! I'll detain him until you can send the authorities."
Even the parents who would drop their kids in to the "children's section" of the library - a seperate room to allow them to read loudly and make other child like nosies without disturbing other - seemed oddly shady as they looked for their own escape from their loin inspired howler monkey.
You could tell a when a new person would arrive as they would lazily walk in a soft-edged zig-zag, trying to get a feel for the room.
Will they sit at a desk...on the couches by the window...maybe at a computer? Where will the spirit take them and plant them to fit in despite the fact that we all were kind of forced like mismatched puzzle pieces in that room.
But the juxaposed jagged edges smashed together kept us jsut far enough a part to derive some solitude, but still feel like we were in the middle of all the madness.
I feel like I am dangerously close to quoting a Jack Maniquin song.
If this post got to the point, I might have to jsut hang myself from one of those Library stacks.