Noticing: People

It was a Saturday afternoon, late, when I had the sudden need for a tabletop tripod for the iPhone. There was only one place in town that would have it and be open at that hour—Wally World. I went there in search of a tripod, I certainly wasn’t thinking about noticing people.

So I hopped in the car and drove down the hill armed with good intentions and a list. Because when Mr. Spouse heard I was venturing out, he had a few things for me to pick up.

As did dear daughter.

But it was a short list because it was nearly dinner time. I was going to go in, get the stuff and leave.

Just. Like. That.

But I didn’t.

Of course not—or there wouldn’t be a blogpost about it now, would there?

No. My quick-just-a-few-things-and-out trip turned into a whole lesson on noticing people. Because the people at Wally World, especially at that particular time, were too interesting not to notice.

The Pirate

First there was the mama trying to round up her kids in the seasonal distraction section. Difficult any time of the year, but Halloween?

Good luck, lady.

Luck wasn’t on her side.

They were bouncing wildly between candy and costumes.

CanIcanIcanI PUH-LEEZE!!!

Each can I met with NO.

Not now.

NO!

Stop waving that knife at your sister!

This to the child waving a pirate dagger toward a sibling.

I slowed down, pretended to look at other stuff. In reality I was soaking in the scene. But it was the mother’s final ultimatum that caused me to pull the cart to the side and dig through my purse for pen and paper.

“That’s it! I’m leaving. With you or WITHOUT you!”

OMG, such memories.

How many times did I mutter that same threat during those years?

Noticing More People

I’d barely put my notes away and was headed toward the frozen foods when I had to stop and add to them.

Because I couldn’t stop noticing people.

Like the teen couple walking past.

Young teens. Skinny, with that just-had-a-growth-spurt look. All gangly limbs. Faces bare of beard and makeup. I doubt they were more than 15.

She held onto his shirttail instead of his hand, and I was struck by the sweet sense of vulnerability between them.

Or maybe that was my own memories rising up.

Of being with a boy I was interested in. Of butterflies in the tummy.

Did he like me too?

Should I reach for his hand?

The teens went one way. I went the other.

And then I saw the old men.

The Old Men

The first was tall and stooped, leaning on his cart for support. Wearing faded red suspenders to keep his Levis up.

The second followed closely behind. Equally old. Walking with a footed cane.

Friends shopping together?

An elderly gay couple?

Brothers?

They had the look of farmers. Weathered. Like they’d worked the land.

But maybe they were fishermen.

Or retired university professors for all I know.

The Stories We Make Up

I thought about them all on the drive home.

I could see the mother feeding her kids with takeout from Micky D’s. Because it was Saturday night, she was worn out and the kids were wired.

Or maybe it was something healthy from the crock pot.

Her story. Their story. My imagination. Because give me one small detail and I’ll make a story out of it.

I wondered about the teenagers. Would they still be holding onto each other’s shirttails next week? Would one of them go home and replay every minute of the afternoon, wondering what every look and every word meant?

And the old men.

Friends? Brothers? Husbands? Neighbors who’d been meeting every Saturday for fifty years to run errands and complain about the price of everything?

I had no idea.

And that, I realized, was part of what made them so interesting.

Noticing People Instead of Passing By

What struck me was how little it took for me to notice them.

A mother’s exasperated threat.

A hand holding onto the back of a boy’s shirt.

Faded red suspenders.

Tiny things.

I could have pushed my cart right past all of them without a second thought. Most days I do.

But this time I didn’t.

I noticed.

And once I did, they stopped being part of the scenery and became people I wondered about. People whose stories I didn’t know but couldn’t help imagining.

I went to Wally World for a tabletop tripod.

I came home with the tripod and several lives I had completely invented along the way.

This Week’s Creative Prompt

Next time you’re out and about in the most ordinary place imaginable, notice one person.

Not in a creepy way. You’re observing, not stalking!

What catches your attention? The way they walk? What they’re wearing? Something they say? The way they reach for another person’s hand—or shirttail?

Notice the detail first.

Then let yourself wonder about the story.

Just remember:

Their story is theirs.

The one you make up belongs to you.

You’ve read to the end. Great! Thanks for noticing people with me. Who have you noticed lately? Leave a comment and we can make up their story together.

A note about the photos: These are not the actual people I encountered that Saturday. I went back later to take a few pictures, which required me to lurk around Wally World looking suspiciously like a creepy stalker. All in the name of art, of course.