About a week ago, before arriving at the tropical paradise of Slave Lake, I took a trip down to my local Starbucks. Now, I am not a very big fan of Starbucks and abhor the preppy types that are associated with the chain, but it is difficult to ignore the amazing "perfect to read to" music that they play. I don't know what it is, but the music is always just interesting enough to give the place an atmosphere and just dis-interesting enough to tune it out and sink into a good book.
I love reading books there.
I typically sink my teeth into a good book much better in public places, anyhow. Something about the chaos and clamour that makes the world in the book seem much more real.
I digress.
I strolled into Starbucks with my Murakami in hand and ordered myself a delicious cinnamon dolce latte. I sat down in one of the comfy chairs, opened my book, and slurped at some of my stupidly expensive drink.
It was awesomeness.
I had been curled cozily into my chair for about 3 glorious self-indulgent pages when an older man sat down in the chair next to me. I didn't pay him much attention. The book and the coffee were a sort of selfish mission and the world was supposed to disappear while I was busy with them. Only, out of the corner of my eye, I couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be conducting some kind of invisible orchestra with his right hand. As the music changed, so, too, would the position of his hand and fingers.
Whatever, I thought. He's obviously riding the weirdo bus but perhaps he's just a weirdo who enjoys his music.
If only.
His hand gestures dwindled down to minor twitches just as he began to giggle. Maybe something is funny? I thought. I quickly glanced around, making very certain to not make eye contact with the man, and noticed nothing out of the ordinary. I went back to my book. He went back to his giggling. I sped up the pace of my latte lapping. He giggled with less control. Something about him reminded me of Alastair Sim from A Christmas Carol. Specifically, the scene where he realizes it's Christmas Day and giggles drip from him like liquid madness.
At this point, I involuntarily glance up from my book and realize that, not only is he staring directly at me, but that he has been staring directly at me throughout his entire feverish fit.
I try to be normal and fail at it miserably.
Within a minute, I am finished my drink, buttoned and mittened up, and am on my way out the door. As I walk across the room to escape the crazy in the corner, he stops giggling and starts full on laughing. He is doubled over in his chair practically wheezing with the effort of it. And he is watching me. Watching me the whole time.
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