A Polite Exchange

I find it funny that the people who hang out at coffee shops regularly and drag their laptops, purses, iPhones, rolling backpacks, and printers with them have this peculiar sense of whom to trust when they must go up for seconds, or use the restroom. I myself have done this because it is so much easier than trying to pack up all your shit and take it in the bathroom with you.  However, I always seem to be the one people entrust all their trappings to when they have to go number two.

“Excuse me miss”, a scruffy looking business man leans over the top of my computer and locks his baby blue eyes with mine.  “Would you be so kind as to watch my stuff for me while I use the restroom”. I glance over at the pile of his stuff on the table across from me to which he was referring, and smile back politely “sure”.

As he sighs in relief, thanks me and we have this neighborly connection going, I can’t help but think, what is it that singles me out amongst all of these other people here, to be the designated watchman? Do I have a certain look that says “I’m honest, I won’t jack your Macbook”, or do I look like I could take down someone who dared to try? I mean, I had been working out lately. What’s so funny about this to me is that I am just as much of a stranger as anybody else, and yet, I always get guard duty.

After this happened to me about five or six times, I began to catch on. It was now my turn to reap the Good Samaritan benefit. I peered over my laptop screen and did a quick survey of the folk seated around me. There was a group of high schoolers in the corner, two older ladies talking about Marjorie’s cat’s hip replacement, some hipster on his computer reading about old timey bicycles, and a middle age hippie with a newspaper, who occasionally would make a sarcastic “huh” noise to show his disagreement with what he was reading.  Who to choose? I began to bite my nails trying to figure out who to approach. Finally, as I could no longer stand the feeling of my venti latte in my bladder, I walked over to the old beatnik. “Excuse me sir”, I stammered.

He folded down his newspaper and before he could ask me what I wanted I interjected “could you please watch my stuff while I go to the bathroom”.

“Yeah no problem”, he said hoarsely, coughed and went back to his reading. Well, look at that, I thought to myself. I went to the bathroom, hoping my stuff would be there when I got back. I returned to find him still engrossed in his newspaper and my stuff exactly as I left it. How did I know how to pick the right person to watch my stuff? I haven’t the slightest. I’d like to believe there are still some honest folk in the world who are willing to watch out for their neighbor at no cost. There really isn’t a way to figure out a person just by looking at them, but I think basic trust in our fellow humans is still alive. It’s just as important to be one that others can trust as to be willing to lend your trust to others, and hopefully, you’ll always have someone to watch your stuff when you have to pee really bad at Starbucks.