THE IN-BETWEEN
You may consider public bathrooms, doctor’s waiting rooms, bus stops, elevators, line ups, airports, hallways, and train stations to be boring, transient places.
I don’t. I happen to think they are magical in-between spaces. Places where everybody becomes a nobody.
Think about it.
When you are at work, you are somebody. At school, same thing, you’ve got an identity to uphold. There is an expectation for you to carry the same story with you wherever people know you ~ at home, at your book club, at your son’s little league game ~ same name, same life, same same.
Now, I don’t mean to suggest that when we step out of these arenas we instantly become a ‘nobody’; that is, an unrecognizable person who suddenly has lesser value than a ‘somebody.’ It’s quite the opposite, actually. Transforming from ‘that guy’ to the anonymous ‘some guy’, is awesome.
In fact, I feel a palpable power in becoming a stranger in these in-between spaces. For one, you don’t know anyone else, and vice versa. And two, very little is expected of you in these spaces. Typically we’re there to wait, the pressure’s off. Our personal narratives are PVR’d at the door, we’ll catch up with our plots later.
And I don’t know about you, but being unknown in a place where very little is expected of me, screams FUN. We all go out to restaurants, and yet we don’t talk to any one around us! We chose to go out in public, to inhabit this in between place together, so what’s with all the feigned eye-contact and cliques? Honestly, dispense with the lame stranger routine! If we’re in the same space, I’m going to talk to you. Deal with it!
Recently, along with a random assortment of nobodies, I sat in my doctor’s waiting room for two hours. I’m very well rehearsed in this in-between space. I’m sure my collective hours in doctors’ waiting rooms would surpass a hamster’s lifespan. Now there’s bragging rights. I considered navigating my way through the pancake stack of well-thumbed but barely read magazines, until a rotund octogenarian sporting a shiny new walker sat himself down next to me. My curiousity kindled. This guy, with his two woollen sweaters and distinctly oatmeal odour possessed more entertainment potential than a million magazines. Unfortunately, he bore an obvious, pained expression ~ sad and defeated by his failing body. To be expected, as we were in a doctor’s waiting room, after all.
The power of anonymity surged through my veins. I was between responsibilities; what did I have to lose with this guy? Any expectation of who I should be at work or home carried no weight. My MO was clear. Raise his spirits.
“Last time I saw this doc he talked my ear off,” I said as the old guy stuffed himself in the chair next to me. “Yadda yadda yadda, blood work stats, you know the routine.”
“Oh I know” he said with a rusty voice, up for a little small talk. He pulled a dusty kleenex from his pocket and soaked up some drippy nose residue.
“He asked me if I noticed myself shrinking lately,” I lied, reeling in his attention.
“That’s an odd thing to ask,” he chuckled.
“Yup, but I’ve heard of this other doctor. Isn’t like the others. I totally want to make up an illness to go see him. Apparently he prescribes really good food. And by good food, I mean bad food.”
The old man’s eyes met mine, as if eye contact would help him hear what I said more clearly. Funny how the word ‘food’ does that, eh?
“No joke!” I continued, with my story brewing in my head faster than the words could fall out of my mouth. ”I could barely believe my own ears. He prescribed cheeseburgers and ice cream to my buddy at least three times a week. That it actually would reverse his calcified hip. A mandatory half-a-bag of chips before bed and a lollipop to and from a work.”
“That sounds like heaven!” the old guy smiled. “I’m old enough now to indulge a little!”
The nurse called my name. I wished the old guy well. And even though he wasn’t in the waiting room when I got out, I know the little story I told made his waiting room stint slightly more tolerable. Maybe he’ll even pass it along to someone else.
We can ignore each other as we go about our business, and I get that not everyone wants a distraction all the time, but by and large I’ve learned that most people love an innocent jest in unexpected places. Certainly, our sense of community is strengthened when we actually TALK to one another in public.
That’s my mission, friends. Entertainment in the in-between. I’m a playful nobody, a stranger in other people’s plots. A jester incognito.
