Hail, Hail the Gang's. . .

It took me awhile to figure how to introduce my fellow regulars at Panera Bakery in Town Centre.  I wanted a creative way, not just a list.  I thought I might base this blog on “The Canterbury Tales” pilgrims, but then everyone would have to have a story.  I thought some more, and my mind went back to a place where we all have been--a high school cafeteria.  A school cafeteria contains a food line, a lot of tables, and a variety of personalities.  That’s what a Panera contains, too.

If you walk in the front door of Panera, you will often find me sitting by myself at a table to your right.  I could be labeled the lonely kid, sadly sitting by himself, reading his newspaper.  I’m not lonely.  I’m perfectly happy and often contemplative.  The lonely kids in high school might be thinking about their English essays.  I might be thinking about something to blog.  And if you come in and see me squinting, it’s not to be nerdy, it’s because the sunshine coming in the front doors makes it hard to see just who you are.

I am only the lonely kid for part of the time.  Sometimes, I’m half of a couple who are sweet on each other and who take their trays to a spot at a table in the high school caf. where they can sit alone, make eyes at each other, and play footsie.  When Linda comes with me we are like that couple. . .a little bit.  We usually sit at a table that Linda chooses, and I sit at the chair that Linda doesn’t want.  What follows does not include eye-making or footsie.  We both read the paper.  We also talk to each other, read each other news items, watch people together, and sometimes laugh.  We are not the only sweethearts at Panera.  There are several regular pairs, including Nick and Mary, a wonderful couple, always together.  They should be the senior homecoming king and queen of this high school cafeteria/Panera.

Across the aisle from my usual seat, sit the largest group of regulars at the P.  This group is almost always all guys.  Sometimes a dozen or more.  They can be a little noisy, often talk sports, occasionally tell a dirty joke that can be heard farther than intended, make fun of each other, and peek furtively at the pretty girls that pass them by.  For these reasons, I think we should call them the “jock table.”  Many of them are retired teachers, ex-coaches, one time athletes, including some of acclaim in the Syracuse area.  They sort of practice the camaraderie they used to observe and correct when they had cafeteria duty.  They are terrific guys, though, without the nasty attitudes that are sometimes apparent at tables of jocks.  And they never have food fights!

Sitting at the jock table, but operating throughout the restaurant, is Tom, the de facto Mayor of Panera’s.   Smiling, shaking hands, patting people on the back, and smooching cheeks, Tom works the room everyday.  Little kids coming in with their parents look for Tom, knowing he will make a fuss over them.  The best way to refer to Tom in our high school cafeteria analogy is as the benevolent President of the Student Council, at home with the jocks, the musicians, and the peons as well.

A bevy of business students, often slurping coffee, also occupy tables in this analogy.  If they were in high school, they would be taking “Entrepeneurship” or “Business Skills.”  They spend hours at their tables, eyes glued to their computers.  Some forget to eat in this cafeteria.  Some are there for the Wifi not the dark roast.  From my nerd table, I sometimes wonder just what it is they do to make their livings in a restaurant on computer.  One, I know, who does business there is a wedding planner.  It’s fun to see the brides and grooms-to-be or the brides and their moms poring over the photos of flowers and the samples of invitations.  I have a feeling the brides get the final decisions, with the mom’s assistance.  When planning a wedding, I think that the guy is just another accessory.

I think this is enough Panera denizens for today’s post.  Some later time, I’ll write about the interesting visits by study groups of kids being home schooled. . . or maybe about the occasional invasions of the tweens.