
A couple of weekends ago, a classmate and I decided to meet at Tryst on a Sunday afternoon. We could lay out our books and notes, we thought, sip some lattes, and spend a few hours chipping away at the assignment at hand.
No such luck.
We arrived at Tryst only to see a roiling crowd of bodies squished onto couches and sitting hip to hip at tables (nothing like the above idyllic scene from Wikipedia). It would have taken a few hours just to get a seat.
We watched, hawk-like, for long minutes. “Well, they have a great tea selection…” I heard a guy say, hopefully and weakly and a bit apologetically, to the woman accompanying him.
There was no clear line, and other more skilled hunters swooped in to grab empty seats. They seemed to have a sixth sense that picked up on the slightest thought of leaving–maybe a glance toward a coat or a foot moving in preparation to stand. I tried hard to develop the sense, to scan the room and understand the difference between a motion to adjust the angle of a laptop screen and a move to get up and vacate a precious space. I concentrated until my shoulders got tight and my jaw went slack, and I think I twitched.
Some people came for takeout and I envied their breezy leaving, going to a place of greater entropy with a warm drink in hand. “Take me with you,” I wanted to say, “to the beautiful life where my stressed, twitching personal hell is just a place to stop for chai!” Continue reading →