Starbucks, Laines
The shop was sparse today
at this time. It was around 330pm and here and there people occupied various
seats alone, enjoying their own company. I chose an empty two-person seat by
the window corner, and as soon as I landed my coffee cup on the table an old,
barely-haired man, with a white aura (primarily because of his hair colour and
plain sweatshirt) started to converse with me. It was almost instant and I just
let him chat away, whilst I enjoyed his content.
I never caught his name,
but I did catch his enthusiasm for art, his prevalent painting hobby and a bit
about his life before and after the war, in only about 7 minutes conversation. I
like elderly people with stories and hearing of their experiences, but this was
one switched on, bubbly and active old man! I learnt he couldn’t walk too well
so he befriended two Asian student females a while ago, who went to collect
some shopping for him today in town from Tesco, he had befriended the female
barista in this Strarbucks, to which he really enjoyed this venue’s atmosphere
(especially for painting) and I learnt that he was openly talkative and
non-threatened by most people. Post war he said he had never attained a career,
just became an electrician and did hairdressing because life was hard to handle
after he left the war. I can link this reference to a similar narrative of
leaving prison in the film ‘Shawshank redemption,’ when the elderly man felt
lost, anxious, confused and disparate from the pace of normal life in cities.
This man’s hobby was
art-watercolour painting, lettering, typography and consuming atmospheres,
whether to create his art, befriend all sorts of strangers to make the art for
(monetary transaction free), or spend endless amounts of time in galleries. He
mentioned that in his younger days he would spend seven days a week there sometimes,
just looking at art and going home to recreate them himself. A very important
painting in his life took him three months to complete, some detail of which he
painted with a needle, as the tiny pixels required patience, skill and proper articulation.
His mother wasn’t an artist he said, and one day he asked her to draw a horse.
At fist she was hesitant but then drew the horse on a simple piece of paper, to
which he responded ‘it’s just like Picasso, it’s really marvellous,’- she
wasn’t sure what that meant as that reference was before her time. She couldn’t
read or write he told me, but seemed as if she could translate an idea onto a
page easily and with unrecognised talent. It was framed and put up next to his three-month
creation in his sister’s hallway, upon his request. They hung side by side from
then on.
It was a gorgeous little
tale he told, before he handed me a gold Starbucks chocolate coin and began
my typographic gift. I thanked him for his generous offerings and relished in the
comfort of knowing how confident he was around new people. It was liberating knowing
that some sense of community exists, even in a Starbucks space, even in a busy
city, at an age that so many disregard.
He wore long beige shorts,
slip on grey crocs, stood up whilst painting, and wasn’t at all shy and didn’t
seem that frail either. During the
conversation his two Asian friends walked in and they had an elongated hand
shake and he handed them two gold chocolate coins also. I was slightly
suspicious of his intentions as he denied any offerings of donations before I
had even thought of it, but after some time and the start of a second
conversation, I wiped those suspicions from my head.
The second conversation revealed
more about him that I could connect to, even though we first bonded over art. He
said he liked settling in this place, because in ‘Pompoko’- a Japanese café in
Brighton laines- the seats were too high for him. After he had finished my name
painting (that contained 3 types of the letter ‘a’ entangled together, which he
had just conjured up on the spot there after about 15 minutes) he said he was done
for painting today and off swimming soon. He goes all the time and has been to
Prince Regents pool in Brighton for years.
On a more historical
tangent he told me he soon wanted to venture to Cornwall, where he was
originally from, after his 30 years in Brighton. He had decided he thought the
city had gone downhill for two main reasons: 1. The overtness of modern day homosexuality,
how it is constantly sprawled all over the city and ‘shouted about.’ He
mentioned observations such as library rainbows everywhere, where they used to
be associated with pleasant connotations and those of ‘beauty’ and how old gay
icons of his time used to be discreet with their sexuality, but now people seem
to want ‘to tell everyone about it.’ This goes in line with the recent law
passing gay marriage and how he disagrees with it. He said he knew a woman who
had to leave the city due to her birth name Gayner, due to the regular use of
the abbreviation. I am pretty liberal when it comes to this subject and believe
in equality, so I couldn’t agree with everything he mentioned, but still found
it intriguing to absorb his viewpoint. And secondly, he wanted to go due to all
the hills. Brighton, built on seven hills, was getting too much for him and his
walking dominated lifestyle.
In line with the latter
issue, he told me to walk. And keep walking into my old age, and swim. He told
me they will keep me ‘how I am’- he said young and beautiful. I responded
rejoicing about walking as I totally believe in it myself, but I also mentioned I
run a lot. He expressed a disgruntled face and replied ‘oh no, don’t run,
that’s how I got my arthritis.’ So now I have learnt to tone down exercise of intensity
and maintain my walking lifestyle into adulthood. This conversation made me
smile as he was encouraging everything I believed in and somewhat inspired me
to continue to chase after creativity, culture, maintain a simple life, be
around people, look after my body without trying too hard and follow endeavours
and places that make me happy. Don’t strive too much to go with the speed of
society, or what’s expected. He seems so content and well, even without the
banker career behind him or living in a loft apartment in central. :)
I chose to save my coin
for after tea later.
THE DAY AFTER:
THE MAN IS HERE AGAIN! Naw, we waved to eachother again and I embraced that same corner not so far from him. He waddled over with his stick at like minus miles per hour (empathetic description not insulting him) and handed me a chocolate ladybird. I literally wanted to weep he was so lovely. Again I thanked him profusely and he placed a pound coin- as an offering towards my coffee- on my table. That I refused, I will never take anyone's money, especially not his, no matter how insulted he may be. What a guy, eh!?? :)
He told me today it was writing day. No painting. He said that he had been writing this story (when he had time around his art) for around twenty years. It's a story he promised he would tell me later but briefly summarised it saying it was about a window cleaner whose life turned for the best...all in his little collection of notepad paper sheets, flying around everywhere upon his perch.
