Behind Those Hazel Eyes

I first laid eyes on him during a normal afternoon rush. He ordered a tall decaf and followed his words with a soft awkward chuckle. He had an odd grin that was accompanied by eyes that constantly shifted from side to side, as if they were nervous to stay in one place for more than a fleeting moment. I would come to loathe those eyes.

Socially inept is the best way to describe him. He was the type of guy that was always trying too hard to fit in. Conversing with him was always an uncomfortable experience because of how his eyes grasped you and made you feel as though you were on display. His lack of social skills was apparent in his poorly timed and excessive laughter. He laughed as though his social acceptance depended on it. He even had a way of waving in a creepy manner. Every time he left the store he would make sure we saw him wave goodbye. He would place his right hand over his left shoulder and slowly roll his fingers as he walked away, leaving you with a lingering impression of his piercing eyes. Something was definitely off-putting and eerie about him, but we were never completely able to put our fingers on it, so we just brushed him off as another weird, yet harmless, coffee shop groupie.

We didn't know much about his life, but judging by the amount of time he spent in our little coffee shop, there wasn't much to it. We knew he was 23, and that he worked in a grocery store and as a wheel-chair pusher at the airport. Other than that, we only knew his life that existed inside the walls of our café.

He came in almost every night and busied himself for hours upon end by writing stories in his notebook. He always sat at the same table, in the same chair, watching, waiting for a moment to join in on a conversation. His eyes would dart between his notebook and any barista that approached the espresso machine. You could feel his eyes locked onto you, but he was always careful to look away when you handed off a drink. His sense of hearing was impeccable and he could overhear baristas' conversations from across the cafe and would chime in, especially if sports or movies were the topic of discussion. You could see his body shift any time a new customer approached the register, or baristas started talking. I always wondered just how much he overheard.

His notebook was an object of grandeur and mystery to many baristas in the downtown area. We would pass the time by imagining the types of stories he was writing. Some baristas thought he was simply jotting down what we talked about during our shifts. Knowing how perceptive his hearing was, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he did keep track of our conversations, as you always got the feeling that he was listening intently.

If you asked him what he was writing about, he would usually tell you he was writing a story about a losing football team that wound up winning the Superbowl. His depictions were usually fictitious accounts of current sporting events. But I wasn’t satisfied with his story summaries. I felt that there was more in that notebook than he was letting on. Getting my hands on that notebook would be the only way to know for sure.

He sat right next to one of our garbage cans, so whoever took out the trash was inevitably forced to have an awkward encounter with him. To be completely honest, even though he gave off a weird vibe, I still couldn’t help but pity him and his seemingly lonely existence. So, whenever I had to change the trash I would chat with him about the latest movie he saw and his job at the airport (for which he was given employee of the month honors). Also, talking to him gave me the opportunity to scan whatever page of his notebook he had opened. I never really saw anything on the pages to confirm my suspicions, but I just knew there had to be something else in that notebook. I know how invasive I must sound, but honestly I felt the need to find something in that notebook that would prove once and for all that he was a creep.

We did know for certain that he wrote one thing other than sports stories, he wrote rap songs. On Valentine’s Day he wrote a rap song and gave it to each of the female baristas. Once, I took a summer off from being a barista to pursue an internship, and when I returned I received my own customized rap song welcoming me back to the store. I hung it on my fridge for awhile because it provided me with a great conversation starter. [The letter is currently packed away somewhere so I have to recall it from memory, but when I find it I will be sure to post the song up word for word.] My all time favorite quote from the whole song was the last line, “like they said to that Kotter guy, welcome back.”

We had a restroom in our store that we kept locked. In order to use the bathroom, you had to ask us for a key. Sometimes when he went to the bathroom we would dare people to go look in his notebook. I think once I got about halfway to his table before guilt and fear made me turn back. He would use our bathroom for long periods of time, sometimes returning with beads of sweat dripping down his face. One of our male baristas would always joke about what he did in the bathroom, (I won’t say because I don’t want to be too vulgar), but anytime he mentioned it the rest of us squirmed because of the disgusting metal pictures we had to block from our minds. In a million years, I wouldn’t have thought it to be true, until one of our managers found porn in the bathroom. We never doubted for a second that it was him.

When I transferred to the store that I currently work at, I found that he was a frequent patron there as well. I swapped stories about him with my new coworkers and found that they were also baffled by his odd behavior. Slowly, over the course of this past summer, his behavior started to become weirder, as if that were possible.

One day he came up to the counter and ordered tea. My artsy female coworker asked him what he was writing about. He told her he was writing a story about baristas…naked baristas. I knew it! He then asked her if she slept in the nude. Now, up until this moment, he had never made a sexual comment to any barista, so it was quite shocking to hear this, but also rewarding because we finally had an incident to pinpoint why he was a creep.

I remember the last time I saw those eyes. It was a Sunday night and everyone had come in to do inventory. He was there, in his usual spot, and you could tell that he was thrilled by the commotion of having all of the baristas in the store at one time. He was showing all of us his new cell phone, the first one he’s ever owned. I was teamed up with a male barista and we were in charge of counting items in the area of the store that he was sitting in. I would count the items and my coworker would write them. I called out a number to my partner, no response. I looked and saw that he was behind the counter whispering to one of our supervisors. She came over and pulled me into the back room. The seriousness in her face scared me, as she is probably one of the most free spirited and easy going people I have ever worked with. I knew something was wrong.

“He took a picture of you with his camera phone. He took it while you were bending over counting the teas. He...he just hid it under his arm and snapped the photo. Your counting buddy saw him do it. Do you want me to talk to him?”

"Yes."

She discretely went and told him that it was against the store’s policy to take pictures in the store and that he needed to put his phone away, and that he should delete any pictures he may have taken with it.

Violated. Embarrassed. Angry. These words best describe how I felt in that moment. I know that I didn’t bring the incident on myself, but I felt degraded and humiliated thinking about it, especially because all of my coworkers were there and were all bound to find out.

After inventory, we decided to go grab a bite to eat, so three of us waited outside for others to finish. He came out of the store and walked right by us, but none of us dared to give him the time of day. He walked into the doorway that led to other businesses in our building. My supervisor ran out of our store and followed him through that doorway. She came back a minute later and explained herself.

"I didn’t feel like I had stood up for you enough earlier. So I went and told him that if myself or anyone else sees him with his phone out in our store again that we will ask him to leave and never come back. I’m so sorry I didn’t do it sooner.” She walked back inside and as we were discussing the incident he appeared through the doors.

Silence. My coworker tried to cover up the fact that we were talking about him by going on some hilarious rant about espresso. He walked over to us and paused for an uncomfortable 10 seconds before speaking. I refused to look at him.

“I’m sorry. (Awkward chortle) I mean...I’m…I’m…ah…really sorry guys.”

I feared that I would have to be the one to address him, but my coworker saved me.

“Don’t ever let it happen again.”

“I…I won’t.” His look of relief disappeared when none of us responded. “I really am sorry.”

I knew he was directing his apologies at me and I could feel his eyes locked onto me, but I kept my eyes focused on my coworkers. I could see him out of the corner of my eyes, but I REFUSED to let those eyes lock onto mine. It was a matter of survival for me. I was Harry Potter and he was the basilisk snake who could kill me with one look. I wasn't going to accept his apology. He didn't deserve it. The four of us stood there in silence for a full minute until he walked away. It’s been 3 months and he hasn’t showed his face in our store since.

I feel like a coward for not standing up for myself, but I am grateful to my coworkers who took action when I was rendered helpless. I had many things I wished that I would have said to him, but I couldn’t face those eyes. I thought back to how many times those eyes had been cast at me and other female baristas, and I finally realized what it was about those eyes that had perturbed me; they were a window to all of the inappropriate and devious thoughts that churned in his mind.