Day 7, take 2: In which fraternity is introduced

I was going to write a bitter post about the Club of Interesting People, but I think I’ve just been let in. Not because I’m an Interesting Person, but because truly Interesting People are often very kind people who extend invitations to the Club precisely because they don’t believe there is a club and they just like people, even boring people.

But I was going to write this post.

There is a bookstore where I drink cheap coffee almost every night and write letters and check my e-mail and catch up on the world, by which I mean Portland. The same three people work here almost every night; they recognize me now, recognize that when I put my hand in my pocket I will bring it back out with $1 in change. I have begun to recognize other regulars and so I can also recognize the interlopers, the tourists, the out-of-towners.

Tonight there was a girl from the country. A brown-skinned, dread-locked girl who might as well have had “interesting” tattooed on her forehead—not because of her dreadlocks, but because of her light way of walking and brown feet. She was from somewhere full of water and fields. The man behind the counter greeted her. Talked to her for a bit. Exchanged views on river life. Exchanged names. He is a tall, older man with an old white branch that he uses as a cane. He is devil-may-care, book-lipped, and his glasses darken in the indoor light. “Have a good night,” he tells people. “Watch out for tourists.”

Here’s a thought: Stripes mark you with modernity and modernity marks you with plastic and plastic marks you with shallowness, some people tell me. I was wearing a striped shirt and black converses. I looked too clean. I was even wearing eyeliner. Not in the Club.

Oh sad insignificance. Nothing interesting to say. A paper cup. A blue book.
But of course, I stood up to fill my coffee cup—you get one free refill—and the man turned to me, smiled, and said, “How are you?” We talked about dogs and the Fourth of July.

The bitter essay (expose!) died on the lips of the little writer person in my brain who is always twittering away like a bird, hopping, and making sentences out of every tiny thing. This person resolved to be less petty.

And that’s all.