The Coffee Shop Census of Newtown

I was sitting in a coffee shop in Newtown this week, supposedly writing.

I say "writing".

What I was actually doing was staring out of the window, drinking coffee and conducting what I can only describe as an entirely unofficial people-watching survey.

It's one of my favourite hobbies.

Some people birdwatch.

I people-watch.

The difference is that birds are generally more predictable.

Take the gentleman who walked past the window three times in ten minutes.

Not unusual, you might think.

Except each time he appeared to be looking for a different shop.

By the third lap, I felt emotionally invested in his journey. I nearly got up and offered directions.

Then there was the woman carrying four shopping bags, a handbag, a coffee and what appeared to be the weight of the world on her shoulders.

She somehow managed to answer her phone, open a car door and keep hold of everything simultaneously.

I watched in awe.

There should be an Olympic event for that.

I also became fascinated by the number of people who walk around holding a mobile phone but aren't actually using it.

They just carry it.

Like a comfort blanket for adults.

At one point, two people walked directly towards each other whilst staring at their screens.

I genuinely thought I was about to witness a collision.

Instead, they performed a sort of subconscious side-step worthy of professional dancers and carried on their journeys without ever looking up.

Humans are remarkable creatures.

My personal favourite, however, was a young lad who emerged from a nearby shop carrying what can only be described as an enormous inflatable dinosaur.

Not a small dinosaur.

Not a sensible dinosaur.

A dinosaur so large that it struggled to fit through the doorway.

The young lad looked delighted.

His mother looked like she was already regretting every decision that had led to that moment.

I smiled into my coffee.

Because that's the thing about people.

We're all slightly ridiculous.

And I mean that in the nicest possible way.

The man searching for the mystery shop.

The woman juggling half of Newtown's retail economy.

The phone walkers.

The dinosaur owner.

Me.

Especially me.

After all, there I was pretending to write whilst secretly creating elaborate backstories for complete strangers.

For all I know, the gentleman wasn't lost at all.

Perhaps he was getting his daily steps in.

Perhaps the dinosaur was essential equipment for a very serious business meeting.

Perhaps everyone in town was looking through the window wondering why a woman in a hat had been staring at them for the last hour.

It's entirely possible.

The longer I sat there, the more I realised that ordinary life is never really ordinary.

We spend so much time rushing from one thing to the next that we forget how wonderfully strange people can be.

Not strange in a bad way.

Strange in a human way.

The kind of strange that makes life interesting.

The kind of strange that makes you smile.

Eventually I finished my coffee, packed away my notebook and headed for the door.

As I left, I noticed a gentleman sitting alone by the window.

He was drinking coffee and watching people walk past.

I gave him a knowing nod.

Professional courtesy.

It's important to support fellow researchers.