9/11/10 2:00 pm
Today I’m sitting by a funny couple, probably in their 60s. The place is full, so we’re sitting at the less-desirable tables close to the counter. This table doesn’t usually allow for much eavesdropping, as there’s a lot of traffic. But my couple today isn’t even trying to keep the conversation private.
They’re rather jovial, calling over a young man wearing an “Outer Banks” t-shirt and asking him where he’d visited. They make polite conversation for a second and he leaves. A few minutes later, another man with a jaunty hat arrives; they’d obviously been waiting for him. The trio greets each other, looks around for a more comfortable seating area for their visit, and when they realize they’re stuck with the two-top, I offer up the extra chair at my table. They settle in and begin the small-talk. I tune them out thinking this is just your average get-together between old friends.
After a while, I begain picking up on bits of their conversation again and realize the discussion had turned to a much more serious topic, and apparently the reason for the meeting. They were discussing an intervention. Their son is a former military man, and he came home a different person than when he left. He has several addictions and the parents don’t know what to do about it. He’s living with them and working as a bartender, but often disappears for days at a time. The man in the hat is counseling them, asking questions, consoling them. I actually try not to listen. This conversation is too personal, too private, too intense for my silly game of eavesdropping. But at the same time, I’m curious. I want to know the story and I’m fascinated with the people. The parents are obviously very upset and concerned for their son, but outwardly, they’re interestingly calm.
They talk for a long time and reach the conclusion that the man in the hat and his wife will come to their home for dinner next week. He’ll meet the son and hopefully get to know him personally. The parents seem releived and they finish up their frappuccinos and leave.
The sad part is, this is actually the second time I’d overheard this type of conversation at a coffee shop. My first ever intentionally overheard conversation was another intervention meeting at a different Starbucks location about three years ago.
