Today I am grateful for people watching. If I ever become housebound, please send me videos of people at airports, in waiting rooms or in large department stores like Costco or Walmart. What a hobby!
We had occasion to spend hours and hours in a Philadelphia Hospital waiting room last week. (All is well with the patient.) While four of us waited, so did another family of maybe 30 people of varying ages, male and female, with some kids and at least one baby. Who did they have in surgery? No clue. But boy they were fascinating to watch.
In the cafeteria at least fifteen of the men/boys shoved a bunch of tables together. The older ones were casually dressed but the younger boys had suits on, including ties. Weird. They were rowdy and had a shouting match among them. Or maybe they were Italian. I mean no slur to my Italian friends, but my first time in Italy I noticed two guys shouting in each other’s faces and mentioned the “fight” to Himself. He said, “They are not fighting. They’re Italian. That’s how they have a conversation.” Yup, that was the guys in the cafeteria at the hospital.
Their “women” came in and shoved another bunch of tables together in another location, on the other side of us. We were the filling in their Oreo cookie. The women were not as noisy but boy they were “colorful”. . .with lots and lots of boobs, covered in stretched tight orange satin, and necks adorned in pearls the size of ping-pong balls, with the whole mix perched atop 8 inch stilettos. And cleavage. Distracting cleavage. Eyeball-popping cleavage as witnessed by Himself, whose glasses nearly flew off when they walked past. I had to tell him to close his mouth before his teeth fell out on his tray. The old guy ain’t dead, yet! I don’t blame him. Those gargantuan purchased boobs are amazing. Even my jaw dropped.
Their guys always stayed holding court in the cafeteria, but the booby women, some with foreign accents I couldn’t place and their kids seemed to be on the same space we were. If we were in the waiting room, they were there. If we went to the cafeteria, they did, too. Did they notice us? Not a chance in Hell. Will I ever forget them? Not a chance in Hell.
Did I make up stories about them? What do you think? Everyone has a story, but if I see you in a waiting room, airport or store. . . I’m going to pay attention to you and give you a bunch of other stories, too, in my mind and maybe in my blog. That’s how I roll because that’s what people watching is all about. And it’s one of my favorite sports. Go team.