Mr. Diet Dr. Pepper « Ordinary Theology

I had the odd pleasure of not knowing what to do with myself tonight.  I more or less wandered into the courtyard of the local mall with a latte, and, not knowing what else to do with myself, sat down with my latte and my knitting.  Aside from the few snickers of teenage passerby's, which I could have done without but that certainly weren't going to stop me, I indulged in one of my favorite pastimes – people watching.

Straight across from me, slumped over so insignificantly that I did not notice him until I began to look around, sat an overweight young man, who was probably younger than me but still beginning his balding years, wearing what was probably a uniform from some vendor in the mall.  Maybe Verizon.  I couldn't tell you for sure, because he was so haphazardly crouched there that it looked only specific enough for a guess.

There he was, slugged over the uncomfortable (I know this from personal experience now) mall bench, with his bottle of diet Dr. Pepper, falling asleep to his iPod.

I watched the people walking by a while, this one coming strutting up in her huge platform heels and slinky mermaid dress, coated in layers of makeup.  Now, here comes an agitated business-looking man, taking his pulse while texting with just his left hand, perching stiffly a few moments a few feet away from me.

Next, a posse of teenagers saunter by, slinking with the same exaggerated slouch in a six-pack of turned-down high top Converse sneakers.

I had nearly forgotten about Mr. diet Dr. Pepper when he did something surprising.  A pizza delivery guy came walking by, and my friend sits up in recognition and says, "Hi!" in a really genuine way.

The pizza man doesn't even sniff a reaction.  Not a glance, or a flicker of the eyes, or a halt in the step.  My friend across the way shuffles back down into his hunch.  And the encounter is over.

I sip my latte, nearly empty.  I stop knitting and pack it away.  I look across at my companion, who has shown no signs of interpersonal response to anyone else.  Strangely uncomfortable, I fidget around and gather my things to leave, and awkwardly I first walk one way in the mall until I realize I am parked the other direction and I have to turn around and pass back by Mr. diet Dr. Pepper again.

He barely breathes as I walk by.  In fact, he's barely been breathing this whole time.

I've been thinking and thinking of this man all night.  One soul, lonely, alone, tired to the point of falling asleep in a very uncomfortable place, unacknowledged by those around him, and so used to it that it provokes no real reaction.  Guilty even to live, to breathe, to exist, and trying his best to slide into the landscape, and according to all social feedback, succeeding.

I walked out of the mall, got into my car, and drove away.  And I find that now, hours later, I cannot escape the uncomfortable acquaintance with my own insignificance, taught to me afresh tonight by my Yoda-master, Mr. diet Dr. Pepper.

Oh, how broken is the world. Facebook