In my humble opinion, the best conversations last for at least an hour and conclude with a handshake and, “My name is Jen, by the way.” That is, if you are a certified story addict like I am.
Whether talking about Peter the Great, the Great Depression, and the harems of ancient Persia with an elderly Russian man whose concept of personal space was very different from my own; chatting with a hiker about canine insurance and “sharp pencil” judges; or being shamed by a twelve-year-old in all matters motion sickness, stingrays, and beaches in the Midwest, I cannot resist the lure of a lengthy discussion with an interesting stranger.
[Kids, listen to your parents; don’t talk to strangers. This PSA has been brought to you by Adults for Responsible Snark-blogging.]
Because I work from home, and I treat my local coffee shops like a second home, many of my favorite conversations have taken place over a steaming cup of dark roast. Say what you will about the addictive properties of caffeine, [the best] coffee shops, along with airplanes and wineries, are a veritable library of fascinating stories waiting to be shared. Today was no exception.
This morning’s conversation covered the whole gamut of topics, from Apple computers to POW experiences in World War II, modern political parties, Californian sourdough bread, marriage trends, horse shows, and Koine Greek. I’m pretty sure that the only thing we forgot to mention was the weather. [Sorry, Henry Higgins].
When he left, I drained my (now cold) coffee while I attempted to consolidate unemployment policies, the joy of editing, William Shatner, and Diet Coke into a cohesive thought. Eventually, I gave up. Some conversations—often the best ones—are just meant to ramble.