After work, a friend and I went out for a drink to celebrate my birthday, and then we wandered around for a bit to make sure that we were sober before we drove home. Situated in one of the more touristy parts of town, the restaurant bordered a cafe, a small art gallery, and three—yes, three—crystal shops. The cafe and the gallery both closed before 5 p.m. The crystal shops did not. I’d been curious about crystal shops for a while, so I did the only thing I could: I dragged my friend in.
We perused and browsed and loitered for about a half hour, and my friend bought a gift for her mom. Eventually, we moseyed outside to wander the rest of the plaza. As we walked, I mentioned something about killing time in the crystal shop.
A man, walking in the opposite direction a few yards away, said something about that being a great way to kill time and asked if we got our gifts. I had no idea what he meant and even considered that he might mean “gift” as in magical power—we had been in a crystal shop, after all.
I kind of just stared at him and wondered vaguely whether we were in the beginning of a Dateline episode.
Picture your mom’s cool older brother who became one with nature after an early adulthood divorce. He gained some perspective from all the ugliness, and now he spends his time hiking and conversing with locals and thinking deep thoughts. He’s rugged but not dirty or unkempt.
That’s the guy.
He looked harmless enough, but my wit always fails me when life demands impromptu interaction with a stranger. I said something bland and noncommittal that I hoped would convey polite disinterest and therefore let us all go our separate ways.
He kept walking, and I tossed a tense, awkward smile in my friend’s direction.
We found ourselves in another crystal/jewelry shop a hundred paces down the hill. Enough time had passed that I had forgotten the man and turned my attention instead to befuddlement over the theme of this second shop, which boasted Native American items, Buddhist items, and riches collected from estate sales. My friend and I were browsing the jewelry cases when the man from earlier waltzed into the store, carrying long, jagged shards of something. Explaining that they were from a newly opened mine in Utah, he gave one to the shop clerk, one to my friend, and one to me.
I fixated on how mine looked like a sleeping dragon while my friend researched the exact kind of crystal.
Afterwards, I tried to talk to my friend about how weird the entire experience was, but she didn’t think much of it. She was focused on the purported health benefits of the crystal, but I cared more about the humanity of the whole thing. Writing this post now, I’m still struck by all of it: random, unexpected, no-strings kindness; a stranger’s inexplicable desire to share a piece of his world; momentary yet immutable connection with this man and the shop clerk who received the third crystal.
I don’t even know their names, and they don’t know mine. I never thought to introduce myself.
People are so wonderfully weird.
None of this would have happened without The Spontaneity Project. Find out more on my “About” page.
The Spontaneity Project 