why living in one city for a long time is kinda cool

It may just be that it's Chicago, but I have a feeling all the bits of random odd things happening to me are merely a result of living in the same place for too long.

for instance, in my line at Starbucks, I have waited on a good friend from highschool (who I have not seen since) and a friend from grade school (hadn't seen even longer since). Both these women work at the hospital inside which my store is located. Statistically, since the hospital is pretty huge and full of people, I'd be likely to know one person in a hundred people standing in my line from some other place. I didn't talk much to the friend from high school, but the one from grade school is married with three children and likes white mochas.

The other day as I was eating lunch across from the CBS newsstation, I saw local newscaster Roseanne Tellez sprint into the McDonald's and under my watchful eye only get a bottle of spring water. I saw her jaywalk back towards the building and I had this train of conversation in my head about how she must have switched stations (from WGN to CBS) and I had no idea, since it's been a while that I've watched morning news. I liked her. She came into one of the places I worked once and was very kind and pleasant, even thanking people who said they watched the WGN morning news just because she was on it. Somehow, I saw this as a metaphor for my switch from Siena to Sbux and felt like it was only as big a deal as I was willing to make it.

There was this girl. I'd seen her at least three times, the first being the most interesting. We were on the red line in the subway, she was reading David Sedaris' new book of essays, the one with the barbie doll figure and something about corduroy in the title. She had glasses and hair so black it had to be dyed, and she looked like a grungy but trendy college girl. The train stalled and it was packed full of people. The conductor walked through the cars to find the problem, people began sighing and exclaiming, and through it all, she read, her eyes darting across the page in bursts, reading, ignoring the situation around her, and as I sat there, I knew somehow that I knew her, but I couldn't figure out from where. Was it school? maybe. Was it Siena? maybe. Was it from somewhere else? I didn't know.

At one point she looked up and stared into my eyes, as I had been boring so long into her aura and visage that I didn't politely look away when I noticed her glance up at me. Rather than be angry, rather than be frightened or suspicious, she merely smiled at me, the most soft smile, and then glancing at the commotion with the train and the people, she shrugged her shoulders and rolled her eyes as if to say, "Silly people..." and blinked at me to see if I understood. I smiled back and she returned to her hardcover book, stiff and sturdy between her long fingered hands.

It was many months later as we rode along Clark st on the same bus that I finally remembered who she was. I strode to the back door to exit at Belden and she leaned forward at the sight of me. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that she followed me and exited the bus. Then I knew that I must know her from Siena, and that was when I realized that she was the granddaughter of one of my most favorite customers, Chuck. I wondered if she remembered meeting me very briefly one morning at the beginning of the fall semester, her first at Columbia.

I think her name is Annie.

Or like the coincidence it takes to have two people heading home from work, places in the same general vicinity, except I usually get off on Sunday at about ten, and it was nearer to 10:30 and who is on the Chicago bus already but Justin of all people? We talked, rode the train north together, and agreed it had been too long since the last time we talked.

I was walking towards the Hair Cuttery on Clark, so randomly you see, and stopped at the crosswalk, opposite me was John, from the Clark st Union John, and last I knew he was in Ohio, going to school, moving back home, left Chicago, but there he was, plain as day, standing before me. I had been meaning to write him for the longest time. I was just amazed to see him standing there on the street. I stood with my mouth open and he smiled at me and laughed. I crossed and we talked, he is back in Chicago, didn't like Ohio, back working on Clark st, even though only six months or so had gone by. He said he'd been meaning to call me, but he'd been busy. I've been busy too. Too busy to write him in all that time. So we made promises to call and hang out soon.

It makes me wonder if I must move or trust that everyone I'm bound to meet will cross my path someday soon and I don't have to try to find them, I just have to be paying attention...