I came to First Street Coffee in Gilroy to get some work done. I’ve got a few hours between boring adult appointments, and I figured I’d curl up at a coffee house, sip on a cappuccino, and crank open my laptop. Then nine old ladies walk in and push three tables together.
Jig is up. If work gets done this afternoon, I will be momentously proud of myself.
As they are standing in line ordering their mochas and lattes, I hear one tell the other, “You go girl!” I’m waiting for the moment where one goes, “OMG, you are such a Samantha! I’m totally a Charlotte.”
A few minutes later, one of them whips out her smart phone and shows her friends.
“I did a selfie.”
I know I shouldn’t sit here and be amused at old ladies having a life. In the blink of an eye, that’ll be me, and some smug 30-something-year-old will be sitting at a table on her newfangled device laughing at me as I take my friends on a virtual tour of my granddaughter’s dorm room. Oh how cute! She’s trying to use Occulus Rift!
I’m pretty sure they know I’m listening in on their conversation now. Probably the fact that I keep looking up from my laptop and openly chuckling is giving it away. Perhaps they also know I’m using them for blog fodder. They should realize it’s coming from a place of admiration, though. Not admiration because I can’t believe that a bunch of 70-year-olds have a life, but admiration because I can hardly gather eight of my friends in the same place NOW—I can’t imagine how it’s going to be when I’m 70.
It warms my heart to see these ladies busting each other up, teasing one another, hanging out at the coffee house on a random Thursday afternoon. But they seriously need to keep it down, I need to get some work down. Is it weird if I shush the table of old ladies? It’s weird. I’m gonna do it, anyway.
The Olive Gal: crusher of old lady dreams.
The Olive Gal
green of skin, black of heart
