I’m sitting in a local Starbucks, and today’s Swing music mix (Dean Martin is crooning Volare, just before that was a song from Ella Fitzgerald’s Music and Moonlight), is just barely audible over the milk-steaming and repeat ordering patter at the counter. As I glance around, I feel like a sociologist discovering a new tribe. I’m sitting across the table from someone working diligently from a stack of yellow-pad papers and a book called Strategic Thinking, Acting and Learning. He’s got a Mac, no surprise. Behind him are three men with headphones, laptops and bad facial hair. Is it a pattern? That if you don’t have a home or real office, and are, instead, at Starbucks at 9:19 on a weekday morning, earnestly typing or reading or talking on the phone, or doing all three simultaneously, you’re released from the obligation of attending to a daily shave.
There’s a Mom in the corner, reading The Berenstein’s Book to her two-year old, and a nanny sitting with a venti-size beverage and three kids all under the age of 3. Behind me, another scruffy-faced guy, bending over a tiny little mini-computer, perched precariously on one knee (said knee is visible beneath his calf-length corduroy cargo Dockers – longer than shorts, shorter than pants, perhaps the clothing equivalent of unshaven, two-day stubble). He’s a stout guy who looks somewhat stockier than he probably is hunched over a Lilliputian computer. It’s in the 40’s and we’re supposed to get thundershowers today, so the apparel choice is unique to this gentleman. Oops – the guy just got up and left with one of the kids from the nanny – so she’s only here with two. That makes more sense. The huge amber ring on her right hand, not to mention her youth, gives her away – none of the well-married women in this part of town wear rings like that after they’ve snagged a corporate husband. And he’s a Dad. It’s not the weekend, so he must be a full-time Dad, so there’s somebody at home waiting for this scruffy-faced, stout man with short pants. Someone who just might adore this scratchy bear of a man.
Isn’t life strange? There’s someone at home who loves me, even when I’m scratchy. Last night during a Scrabble game, my husband had all the letters to spell out “borage” – only he pronounced it like “barrage” and wanted to know if it was a word. I didn’t know, neither did our 4th grader, but thanks to dictionary.com, we learned that borage is something – a plant with hairy leaves and stems, native to southern Europe. My husband used the word, opening up a whole new corner of the board for us; we all had a good laugh about how he’s my hairy plant. I love him when he’s scratchy and a day or two unshaven on the rare weekend he takes off from shaving. Maybe we all want a little borage to call our own. Maybe these Starbucks Laptop Men have just rolled out of bed from a late-morning tousle with their ladies, and it’s actually the look of post-coital masculine satisfaction that I’m witnessing. Maybe these guys have the new look that all the gals crave – scruffy and technologically tuned in – and I’m more judgmental than necessary.
Starbucks Laptop Man 1 has been on the phone since I walked in; his conversation voice is low and loud. I’ve barely seen Man 2 blink. Men 3 and 4 haven’t uttered a word; they seem frozen as they stare at their screens. And then it happens – they jump to life. A scraggly woman in wet layers just dropped a furry hat on the floor, and Man 2 pulled the earplugs out of his ears, pointed to Man 3 directly across from him, then down to the floor at the hat, then toward the door. Man 3 understood this abbreviated form of communication, took off his headphones, picked up the hat, and sprinted to the door. Chivalry completed, Man 2 and 3 return to their tableau.
In the time I’ve been here, the predicted rain shower has come. I dawdle when it’s time to leave. Sunbreaks and sheets of water await me if I step outside, but I have to go to work. In an office. Starbucks Laptop Man 1 is still on the phone. The guy across from me hasn’t taken even the tiniest break from his Strategic everything work. It must be important as he occasionally pulls his hands through his short hair.
Just as I’m pulling this to a close, another guy walks in, sans laptop but with a four-year-old in a Sheriff Woody costume, complete with cow vest and red kerchief around his neck. The Dad’s here to meet with Man 2, who introduces Man 3 as being “in training.” They pull up a few extra chairs, the young boy places his Lego car on the table and quietly eats his treat, and the men are now engaged in a triangle of collaboration, communication without headphones.
I think I’ve glimpsed a new world today. Something about the new American male, maybe. Men who have flexible work schedules yet sit in a loud, cacophonous setting with uncomfortable tables and chairs, stay glued to their seats, their computers, their headsets, and basically recreate the existence of a cubicle. Other men who use the flexibility to blend work with parenting, but Woody is actually on his own now, as his Dad is focused on Man 2’s screen. He’s busy and working. It might have seemed like an outing, “Let’s go to Starbucks, Woody,” and his son might have been very excited to go for a hot chocolate with Dad. But Dad is now a Starbucks Laptop Man, and not even this adorable, amazingly well-behaved Sheriff Woody can draw his attention away.
There’s a Mom in the corner, reading The Berenstein’s Book to her two-year old, and a nanny sitting with a venti-size beverage and three kids all under the age of 3. Behind me, another scruffy-faced guy, bending over a tiny little mini-computer, perched precariously on one knee (said knee is visible beneath his calf-length corduroy cargo Dockers – longer than shorts, shorter than pants, perhaps the clothing equivalent of unshaven, two-day stubble). He’s a stout guy who looks somewhat stockier than he probably is hunched over a Lilliputian computer. It’s in the 40’s and we’re supposed to get thundershowers today, so the apparel choice is unique to this gentleman. Oops – the guy just got up and left with one of the kids from the nanny – so she’s only here with two. That makes more sense. The huge amber ring on her right hand, not to mention her youth, gives her away – none of the well-married women in this part of town wear rings like that after they’ve snagged a corporate husband. And he’s a Dad. It’s not the weekend, so he must be a full-time Dad, so there’s somebody at home waiting for this scruffy-faced, stout man with short pants. Someone who just might adore this scratchy bear of a man.
Isn’t life strange? There’s someone at home who loves me, even when I’m scratchy. Last night during a Scrabble game, my husband had all the letters to spell out “borage” – only he pronounced it like “barrage” and wanted to know if it was a word. I didn’t know, neither did our 4th grader, but thanks to dictionary.com, we learned that borage is something – a plant with hairy leaves and stems, native to southern Europe. My husband used the word, opening up a whole new corner of the board for us; we all had a good laugh about how he’s my hairy plant. I love him when he’s scratchy and a day or two unshaven on the rare weekend he takes off from shaving. Maybe we all want a little borage to call our own. Maybe these Starbucks Laptop Men have just rolled out of bed from a late-morning tousle with their ladies, and it’s actually the look of post-coital masculine satisfaction that I’m witnessing. Maybe these guys have the new look that all the gals crave – scruffy and technologically tuned in – and I’m more judgmental than necessary.
Starbucks Laptop Man 1 has been on the phone since I walked in; his conversation voice is low and loud. I’ve barely seen Man 2 blink. Men 3 and 4 haven’t uttered a word; they seem frozen as they stare at their screens. And then it happens – they jump to life. A scraggly woman in wet layers just dropped a furry hat on the floor, and Man 2 pulled the earplugs out of his ears, pointed to Man 3 directly across from him, then down to the floor at the hat, then toward the door. Man 3 understood this abbreviated form of communication, took off his headphones, picked up the hat, and sprinted to the door. Chivalry completed, Man 2 and 3 return to their tableau.
In the time I’ve been here, the predicted rain shower has come. I dawdle when it’s time to leave. Sunbreaks and sheets of water await me if I step outside, but I have to go to work. In an office. Starbucks Laptop Man 1 is still on the phone. The guy across from me hasn’t taken even the tiniest break from his Strategic everything work. It must be important as he occasionally pulls his hands through his short hair.
Just as I’m pulling this to a close, another guy walks in, sans laptop but with a four-year-old in a Sheriff Woody costume, complete with cow vest and red kerchief around his neck. The Dad’s here to meet with Man 2, who introduces Man 3 as being “in training.” They pull up a few extra chairs, the young boy places his Lego car on the table and quietly eats his treat, and the men are now engaged in a triangle of collaboration, communication without headphones.
I think I’ve glimpsed a new world today. Something about the new American male, maybe. Men who have flexible work schedules yet sit in a loud, cacophonous setting with uncomfortable tables and chairs, stay glued to their seats, their computers, their headsets, and basically recreate the existence of a cubicle. Other men who use the flexibility to blend work with parenting, but Woody is actually on his own now, as his Dad is focused on Man 2’s screen. He’s busy and working. It might have seemed like an outing, “Let’s go to Starbucks, Woody,” and his son might have been very excited to go for a hot chocolate with Dad. But Dad is now a Starbucks Laptop Man, and not even this adorable, amazingly well-behaved Sheriff Woody can draw his attention away.
I wonder how this new breed of techno-male will ultimately shake out. Guys who are Skyping, texting, net-surfing, videochatting, You-Tubing, videostreaming, constantly available but never really connected because all connections occur through screens and keyboards. Communication through abbreviations and acronyms, a whole new language in shorthand for texting and chat rooms, complete with ways to communicate that the naughty stuff has to stop (I totally understand P911, but am horrified to learn that something like W9 exists – look them up and you’ll see what I mean).
Then, because I’m me, I wonder, will my son become a Starbucks Laptop Man? Will he bring his son to whatever meeting places exist in 30 years, and offer him a hot cocoa? If he does, I sure hope he sits eye-to-eye with that child, in whatever costume he’s wearing, to talk to him – play with him, read him a story, toss him a ball, look through baseball or Pokemon cards, come up with a plan for an adventure they’ll have over the weekend. My son doesn’t yet have a cell phone, his own computer or email account, and still doesn’t know how to type (despite the fact that some of his homework assignments are to be typed). My husband is about as low-tech as an adult can be. We spend our family time doing really old-fashioned things - talking, reading, playing cards and games, cooking, eating, listening to music, writing and doing homework (why is there so much homework in the 4th grade already?), taking walks and small hikes, my husband and son play ball, my son and I bike, and all of us like to have our friends over.
Of course we use computers, although apparently we do far less with them than many, and of course we watch movies and a bit of TV (NCIS and The O’Reilly Factor for my husband, Barefoot Contessa and romantic comedies for me, and Diners Drive-Ins and Dives, the occasional educational program about space or nature or lions for all of us). I enjoy my over-priced coffee drink as much as the next person, and I wrote most of this posting today at Starbucks on my tiny netbook. But I continue to hold out for whole-person communication, small activities that can be shared, conversations held under blankets, whole afternoons with girlfriends at a day spa or slow moments with old friends, a glass of fine wine paired with kettle-cooked potato chips and sour cream – that kind of thing. I wish the Starbucks Laptop Men well in their high-tech ventures, but I adore the two low-tech, high-connection guys in my life.
Borago officinalis from Wikipedia.com
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