paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- commute, coffee and chaos commute pattern, coffee addiction and chaos This morning I stopped at a convenience store on the way to work to get coffee because we were out at home. Convenience stores operate like machine systems � regular customers perform regular functions at timed intervals. At least at this high-volume spot, during the morning rush, I feel out of synch. Worse than that, like a stray particle disrupting the flow of the machine. I know I dared to step up to the coffee dispenser that this one corporate woman must have endowed, and then I took sugar which caused a mild groan to rumble under her breath, an exasperated turn of the head, roll of the eyes. I know that part of growing up and heading for middle age is the realization that you are peerless. Who is this woman? Did we share the same SRA reading cards? Did she read Dinosaurs the same year as me? During our formal school years everything seems to hinge on a person�s grade or age. People magically assume that they know all about the life of youth based on their grade and their favorite class, and every day, adults engage in this exchange with children. �Oh, fourth grade, that is when you really learn something new. Third grade is just a summary of grades and 1 and 2, but fourth, oh you�ll love fourth grade.� Or some sort of foolery. I know I was trained to think of myself in terms of being part of a cohort � all of us forth graders, unite. But now that I�m steeped in my mid-thirties, I feel as though I have no cohort. I have never once met anyone, since my school days, born in 1969. I wonder if anyone else was born in 1969, or maybe we are all so cool we left the stinking Midwest? But I digress. Here must have been my cohort equivalent, behind me, giving me that nagging sense that I took too long at my locker. Yes, her energy reminded me of my locker partner, this tall, thin, curly-haired teen who wore Esprit clothes and worshiped Boy George. I finished my coffee and came face-to-face with none other than the adult edition of my locker mate. How strange. How hard to conceptualize before coffee. Getting coffee in the morning reminds me of the time before I was so loved that my coffee appeared every morning in the coffeemaker. I used to stop at this convenient store and performed my function in the machine system. The people around me, almost like a new form of cohort group. No longer based on age but based on commute pattern, coffee addiction and chaos. 9:09 a.m. - 2003-05-20 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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