It’s the first gorgeous day
of spring. The kind of day that makes you remember what it’s like to wear just
a t-shirt outside, that makes you take an extra coffee break, or take the long
way home from work. The kind of day that you have to be patient, and then
ruthless, to find a spot to sit in Rittenhouse Square.
A 50-something woman bent
over the paper bag on her lap had snagged a bench facing the fountain. She
tells me it’s usually impossible to find a seat during lunchtime. She looks
around the park with a tight smile, “Sometimes you get lucky.”
The woman, her name she’d
“rather not say,” wears her gray hair tightly clipped around her pointed face.
Her gray pants match the socks peeking out of her sensible black clogs. She
peels back the foil on her Turkey Light from Cosi and takes a bite. Cut
flatbread holds turkey, arugula, and a smear of mayo – ‘Light’ just means it’s
lower in fat than the regular, she tells me (Less mayo? Fewer slices of turkey?
No cheese? …these are just my speculations.). This isn’t the usual. “Too
expensive,” the woman says, “A once in a while treat.” What’s the occasion? She
shrugs, “It’s a nice day.”
She generally packs her
lunch, likely a sandwich, and takes an hour off around noon. She likes to get
out and take a walk. If she’s treating herself, she’ll go to Starbucks or Cosi,
“Someplace quick, easy, and hopefully not too expensive.”
The woman is a paralegal,
and has worked for the same firm for 20 years. She wasn’t at liberty to tell me
about any of the cases she had looked into that morning. “We do research,” she
says, “Glorified secretary work. It’s a boring job.” But it pays the rent, she
says. I wonder if she ever imagines herself doing something completely
different, if she has a dream-job. “I’d like to retire,” she says. She thinks she's got about eight years to go. “That’ll be
my dream-job.”
