On a college campus, this man is a familiar stranger. His faux professor attire is your cue that you're done for once you've caught his eye. And unless you can employ either guiltless rudeness or a tactful refusal, you best pack up your book, your laptop, and head somewhere else.
Who is he?
This man is retired, didn't make waves with his career, missed getting the girl, and is probably "writing a book," which together all free him up to desperately seek praise for his intellect (which is sometimes very modest).
And he won't leave you the fuck alone.
What does he do?
He spends all day in coffee shops trapping passersby with conversation on literature or philosophy or politics. He remembers everything--names, dates, historical facts--and he wants to talk--not with you, but at you. So anyone will do, but because you're politely silent, don't share all you know and maybe have a cute face, you've won his heart. He keeps you for hours. Rather than deter him, his lifelong loneliness has made his trap deceptively sticky. You're somewhat intrigued, but you know you're totally wasting time.
So what do you do?
I listen almost every time because I don't know how to get away. But now I have another reason to listen: because he's lonely.
I got trapped by one of these guys yesterday and it took me a while to figure out that he was suffering from classic Hemingway loneliness. I flattered myself and first ran through all the other possibilities he'd want to monopolize my attention for three hours--arrogance about his intellect, wonder at my intellect, horniness (he called me pretty several times), even charity (he tried to help me job search and offered to buy me coffee), but after re-reading Hemingway's A Clean, Well-Lighted Place I finally figured out that it was the kind of loneliness that comes from being close to death. He seeks the vitality and youthful faces of a college campus because everywhere else reminds him of how his life is no longer just beginning.
It's hard for me to have compassion for someone who obnoxiously steals my time and attention. But no one deserves it more. My friends just want people to party with and an audience for their unimpressive sexual exploits. These coffee-shop ghosts need company to stay alive.
Obviously, this isn't how I want to grow old. I want to grow old being a listener not just because I want to stay relevant to the world but also because there's too much to learn to keep my conversation partner silent.
