the forbidden middle stall

I went to a cafe to grind out some psets today. I ordered myself a little latte (I've decided that I'm a latte girl now), a slice of pistachio cheesecake, and a chicken pesto prosciutto sandwich. I got there with my friend at around 11:30. We were planning on visiting another cafe called Cicada, but it's really popular and there was a wait to get inside. So we ended up in some chain Italian cafe that had decent vibes. My friend left halfway through to get groceries, so I was chilling by myself for a while, with my sandwich in a takeout box because I was saving it for when I got hungry, but then I never got hungry.

I was happily LaTeXing my topology pset when suddenly, Overleaf stopped saving my work and promptly informed me that their servers were down. I stared at the status website for more than a hot second, thinking about how sad it was that my pset was due tonight and it was going to take even longer to finish it. I eventually looked up from it and I noticed that there was a group of three girls all wearing backpacks standing not too far away from me. They were craning their necks, looking around the establishment. It was clear that they were looking for somewhere to sit.

I was seated at a big long table with maybe 8 seats. Everyone at the table was by themselves, and so they arranged themselves in a checkerboard fashion. There were enough chairs for all three of the girls, but that would mean they would have to sit apart. I happened to be sitting in the middle of the checkerboard pattern. There was an empty seat to my left, right, and front. So it seemed that I could solve their little predicament very easily if I were to shift myself one seat over.

I knew that, but I kept looking back and forth between the girls and the chairs around me, paralyzed for some reason. I knew I should move over, but what was I supposed to do? Awkwardly shift a seat down, hoping that they would notice? Was I waiting for them to make eye contact with me?

One of the girls ventured a little deeper into the cafe, and it seemed like they were going to settle for some other arrangement of seats in the cafe that did not involve all three of them sitting together. If I wanted to help the girls sit together, I should do it now, I realized. I got up and told one of the girls that I could move so they could seat together. She happily took up my offer and thanked me too much for how insignificant the act of moving one chair over was.

It felt good to do that. Not because the girl thanked me or whatever, no. I was proud of myself for overcoming that fear and paralysis I felt and doing exactly what my brain told me to do. Somewhere along the way, I have tempered my actions too much by fear. It sounds so silly to most people, but the fear of confrontation and talking to strangers in general consumes me, so much so that I stop myself from helping others when I know I can easily help them. I usually end up pretending that I never saw anything. Of course, in these situations, I am merely a stranger and have no obligation to help them, so I can get away with doing that easily. There is no rational reason not to help them. Like, what are they going to do? Get mad at me for helping them (a very valid fear)? Or maybe they would think I was weird for helping and look at me weird (also a very valid fear that I have). I think the worst fear I have is helping them in the wrong way. I don't know how to help people, because I could see every possible course of action go wrong.

It wasn't really that much of a problem for a long time. I think I told myself that other people get away with not helping others, so I could get away with that too. Then, I heard someone describe a person who was very kind, who noticed and helped others when people would usually ignore the situation. I felt a stab of jealousy. I could be like that, too, I thought to myself. I could be a kind person, if I wasn't scared shitless over such silly things.

But instead, I put my headphones on noise cancelling and I swipe around my home screen, pretending to not notice the things happening around me.

I think this happens fairly often in general. A lot of people are concerned solely with their circle of friends and family and try their best to minimize interactions with strangers. I mean, that's why we were all seated in a checkerboard formation at that cafe table right? That's why there's a seat between parties at those long tall counters right by the window. It's so inefficient, and the reason behind the separation is meaningless, honestly.

That's why I love events that bring strangers together. "The humanity of this occasion!" I'll cry out, "It's so beautiful." I've been dabbling in some religious organizations on campus, despite being very firmly agnostic (that's a story for some other time). Apparently they sing together at each gathering? It's beautiful. Everyone's singing wholeheartedly, and we're all connected.

Parties are a great example of this (I've been to one frat party). People get inebriated and they dance in a dark room with people they don't know to loud music. Oh, parties are a gold mine of humanity. So many people doing their own little thing in a noisy environment, contributing to the noise a tiny bit, knowing that the rest of the noise will drown out the details of themselves away, and that they are allowed to say and do more than normal. The flashing lights turns everything into a sublime movie.

At the one party that I went to, I was a little wallflower, watching this all unfold. Drinking gets rid of the lump in my throat, but it doesn't teach me what to say and do, and once again, I'm back to being paralyzed. I should go out and dance, but I don't know how to. Or, at least, I don't know how to do it correctly. It's so scary.

And the distance between me and the next person never gets filled in, because there's an unspoken rule. "Don't use the middle urinal."

But life is not generally like that, and the interactions that we have with random people on the street won't be remembered if they were negative, anyways. I've had the pleasure of meeting people who try to close the gap between themselves and strangers. It's beautiful when they do. They are good people. They remind me that I'm making things worse in my head, and it's okay to talk to people and make mistakes.

You should remember that too.