desired tenderness #9
on dropping and picking up
Recently my partner and I went on a trip to Spain. As the designated Spreadsheet Maniac in the relationship, I had determined much to my own astonishment, a Spanish trip was actually more affordable than travel in these United States. Once we arrived in Madrid and settled into the hotel, we went directly to the grocery and just stood agape at the 60c baguettes, and doing quick sloppy math figured that’s like, 64¢ for an entire loaf of bread. A glass of wine was 3 euros. Three FREAKING euros. And Spanish waiters pour wine like they’ve zoned out halfway through thinking about their first love or something, snapping back only just in time to save from wine overflowing onto the table. Take me back.
However the one thing I did miss – eavesdropping. I always forget this when I go abroad, the sudden jarring loss of my subscription to the ever-expanding library of gossip that is accessible by just listening closely and openly. To me, being out in public is often like traveling through the desert, always praying to hit the next sweet oasis of Other People’s Business. On particularly boring days I practically have to hop from pocket to pocket in order to survive the banality of otherwise existentially bleak places like the airport or grocery store.
While I speak a decent amount of Spanish, thanks to my high school Spanish teacher Señora Benzenhoefer and a digital green owl that bullies me everyday, the way eavesdropping works requires a much firmer grasp on language. Once in a non-English speaking country, you become acutely aware that rewarding gossip is like a finely woven tapestry and if you can’t follow one of the threads, the whole thing falls apart.
In one instance, we were seated next to a young Asian woman and a middle-aged man in a wheelchair with a Catalan inflection, so any hope I had of tracking was out the window. For the first half of the conversation he recited off his phone, I am not sure whether it was a speech he had prepared or just a lengthy reading, but as he spoke she was in a state of perpetual forward slumping as if a small black hole had opened inside his mouth and she was being slowly sucked in. God, I would have loved to have known what the black hole was saying to her.
Another instance was two women, one tall and one shorter, who seemed to be having a very loud combative conversation in the doorway of a restaurant we were seated at. Along with speaking very quickly, it did seem slightly slurred, which was weird for 3pm but not unheard of (zoned-out wine pours). There were moments I felt the situation was confrontational, and then the tone would shift and I would think no, it was simply aggressively motivational. I do not know. I wanted to know. Lots seemed to be going on in the lives of every single German speaker, all of which was completely wasted on me.
At a certain point towards the end of the trip we walked past a group of loud British teens in El Retiro Park and all I was able to grab in passing was “....turned out it actually cost like, 67 euro, which is a bit insane….” and practically wanted to turn heel and follow them just to find out if that was too much or too little for whatever it is. I don’t even care about what it is. Just tell me more about the rising tensions of this low/high price you precious, precious flock of English-cawing birds. But Zack was holding my hand nice and tight, and ultimately that exists above gossip on my hierarchy of needs so I did not, in fact, chase them down with an unhinged thirst burning in my eyes.
Today, I went to my local New York-style bagel shop for an egg, bacon, cheese and Diet Coke (which came out to 15 dollars after tip aka 5 cups of Spanish wine or approximately 22 loaves of fresh baked Spanish bread but, who is counting?). While I was seated at the booth next to the counter the manager of the shop was talking with a woman and it basically boiled down to a debate between the two of them as to who was being more rude. In terms of potency, this is essentially the ear voyeur's version of Walter White’s blue meth. I still feel the head buzz from the entire conversation concluding with “and you know what if you don’t like that, you can just go” (!!!!!!!!!). You can take the bagels out of New York but you can’t take the New York out of the bagels, baby!!!
Some might protest that this is in violation of privacy. But to that, I issue this question – if someone goes into public, say into my local coffee shop, and takes off their top, and I happen to have a glance at their naked chest while sipping my latte, does that now make me a peeping tom, a pervert? No, says I, I am simply here, present and with senses intact. If you don’t want the world knowing something, keep it inside of four walls or between two ears. Is eavesdropping tacky? Yes, but listen. Are you listening? Almost everything about me is.
This entire Twitter is dedicated to an automation which marks the departure and arrival of a cat named Pepito. The posts are time stamped either announcing “Pepito is out” or “Pepito is back home”. The simplicity of these up to the minute updates is highly satisfying to me, like a holding of breath and an exhale. May the things you love always return.
I’ve been very quiet, I pretty much have dropped the ball on publishing for a few months. It’s hard to be a writer and to write anything other than the word Palestine when it is constantly on your heart and your mind. I am very self conscious that my scribed buffoonery may be inadequate at this moment. However, if I can find the spirit for it, thinking light-heartedly is a balm in a heavy world for me, and I am hoping maybe that is the case for others.
Remind me to tell you the convo I overheard in Asheville next time we see each other. 💙