Busyness Business

The other day while waiting for an auto oil change, dropped in for a coffee to a well-known establishment where one could have a nice Italian cuppa. With coffee and book in hand,  I found a comfy chair, sharing a coffee table that had a young woman at it, laden down with the usual stuffed back pack. Latte by my side, I turned to my page and began to read. My table mate had her cell phone out and started in. Trying desperately not to eavesdrop, but being unsuccessful, my novel protagonist was forced to share its trials with my nearby fellow. She related her whole medical history as she pleaded with the doctor's office to tell her how her thyroid was doing after the extensive testing. I also became quite enamored by the gland, since it and I had become friends of an intimate sort.  Just across from me, another customer, his notebook and phone out, was peddling his services as house inspector. I learned all about his specialty and how well trained he was during the intense six-months schooling it took to assist buyers such as that of his respondent. He spoke of the inherent dangers of everything from flooring and walls to insects and rodents during the proposed sale. On the spot, I vowed to do some cursory investigation of my own new condo. As he remarked repeatedly,"you never know". And I didn't, but I vowed to take a look. The person I sat next to, called her friend to meet her as support in the quest over her thyroid gland issue. Shortly, the friend breezed in, backpack adangle with water bottles and spare running shoes, and I sighed back into the pages of my book once again. A young man in his three piece suit, likely on a break, came and sat down in the chair plopping his laptop on our table. His fingers flew over the keys rapidly, his coffee mug largely ignored. The tiny tappings denoted great skill. My book character, formed of letters also, would have adored him. He was much too young for me, and furthermore, I didn't know his cell number. That, apparently, is how one communicates now. I looked around and saw that no one in the place spoke to one another even if they sat together; all were occupied with their devices, digits racing. I felt archaic having my smart phone sulking in my handbag pocket, but I couldn't think of a soul who would understand an inane call or text at this time of day. My friends are occupied with actually doing things like golf, babysitting grandchildren or making bazaar crafts to peddle at the next calendar holiday.