People love to judge me and I just love to judge them right back.
It’s one of my worst qualities and one of my favourite hobbies.
People watching is just the best way to pass the time. If you have no imagination at all, then I feel sorry for you and this post won’t mean much to you. You might try to allow for a little less reality TV in your daily activities and perhaps read a book once in a while. Also, just so you know, it’s not really reality. Except maybe Honey Boo Boo. Nobody could ever have come up with that!
If you, like me, have a vivid imagination, then you will understand this hobby. It makes me less inclined to analyse just how many diseases and infections I am exposed to on public transport as the woman next to me coughs in my face. I am no longer concerned with the fact that my bus is stuck in terrible traffic or that my iPod has run out of battery and I have nothing to read.
I like to imagine what people are like. Whether their personalities correlate with their physical exteriors. What they are on their way to do that day or what they are feeling. My favourite place to people watch, though, is at nightclubs and bars.
There is nothing more entertaining to me than to witness the successes and failures of male/female interactions. What’s even better about it, is that you are given an extremely loud and occasionally catchy soundtrack to accompany the visual effects of strobe lighting and cinematic splashes of colour. You don’t even have to hear the people talk so you are not distracted from watching their body language. You can substitute the “truth” of what they are actually saying with what their bodies are connoting and oh, how I love to watch this. There is a club in the city where I live which is frequented by travellers and backpackers. I have been there several times and it is like going to the cinema for free (backpackers are too cheap for entrance fees). I sit on the massive elevated couches which give me a front row seat to the positively desperate endeavours of men and women to find companionship for the night.
No, I do not like to participate in these interactions myself, which is probably why I am single. I do not have the energy to pretend that it is possible to meet my future husband in a club where my heels stick to the alcohol sodden floor. However, I applaud those who still believe and I hope they continue to search as long as I can continue to voyeuristically enjoy their efforts and laugh at their failures. Does this make me a bad person?