opening closing moments

6:45pm, Local 123. I was in that in-between state, fifteen minutes before closing, when you know that no more work is really going to get done but when it feels premature to pack up and leave. That table was not easy to get, and I was loathe to give it up too soon...

Enter the Imperial March from Star Wars, one of John Williams' master compositions:

Yes, doesn't it make the hairs stand up on the back of your neck too? Suddenly I was transported from the cafe onto the deck of the Star Destroyer, plying my way through space with Tie Fighters all ar--

Wait a minute, this is just a sample. What song is this? It was a rap song of some sort, with the Imperial March sampled into it. Well, cool enough. They had good taste, gotta give 'em that. So my task then became finding out just whose song that was. As of this writing, I didn't quite get there, because, at 6:49 PST, from left field or Dantooine, out rings the barista Tucker's voice:

"Attention dear patrons of Local 123!! The time is now 6:50 and the cafe will be closing in ten minutes!!"

She goes on in loud and animated style, the remaining denizens--that is, computer users, students with piles of books on the table, and everyone else in between--slowly emerging from their electronically-induced comas. People look around. A few smile, even laugh. Others are resolute, and remain buried in their screens.

Tucker continues: "How can I help you make this close smooth and easy? Well, since you asked, if you would bring all your dishes and cups to this lovely bin over here on my right, we would really appreciate it."

At this point, the two women at the next table are breaking up in laughter. I start closing windows, closing down, stretching. One person starts clapping at the barista's performance. I join in. And look over at the next table.

Wait a minute, one of the women has a Cal sweatshirt on. I ask if they're grad students at Cal, and it turns out one is at Mills and the other at Cal. They ask about the book on my table--Mark Hansen's Bodies in Code--and it turns out one of them is really into new media as well. We talk as we pack up our stuff, and keep talking as we walk out, yelling bye to the baristas and moving into the night on San Pablo Avenue.

A spell had been broken, and for the better. I thought about it riding home from the cafe--thought so much that I rode past the juicy temptation of Everett & Jones without even a thought of one of their signature brisket sandwiches. About the spell that is cast over our activities in 'normal' times, during the usual 'opening hours' of life, when we all go about business as usual, engrossed in screens, books, jobs, schedules, routines, and the like. Nothing wrong there, I suppose, and all very necessary.

But it seems like a bit of a shame, along with being special, that only in the closing moments does the tempo quicken, the music change. Only then, with a deadline approaching, that people can, must, and do step out of the usual flow and let themselves be heard, feel unencumbered in turning and speaking with their neighbors, reaching out and smiling. Somehow, things have to close for others to open.

Or maybe that's just me? Or, perhaps, just a rhetorical flourish to draw a close to this post?