The Baconator-Sprite Family

As our class discussed this afternoon, Thoreau wanted little to do with other people. His life's meaning didn't require interpersonal relationships. Perhaps as Izzy said, his interpersonal void was filled by the natural world. I don't doubt this, but it strikes me as paradoxical that social interactions are what a lot of people consider to be crucial in creating a sense of place. I have often felt that a place is made up of the people there, similarly to the way in which Lynch et al.'s bioregionalism piece describes the idiosyncrasies of a particular neighborhood. A personal example that comes to mind is the Wendy's where I've been employed since I was sixteen. To be fair, sometimes I have felt like it was the eighth circle of Hell. Especially in the summer, when the broken air conditioning only worked in the dining area and the one, ancient prototype of a fan continuously blew the hot air around the room. In general, the building itself was somewhat of a disaster; we only scraped by inspection each year. Nevertheless, the people there made it a place that meant something. John and Denise would come in every Sunday for their free senior coffee and ask me about the school thing I did in New York somewhere and how the science was going. John always got his grilled chicken wrap with honey mustard on the side and only onions and lettuce (the chopped stuff), no cheese. Denise always wanted her coffee hot so I would put a new pot on to brew when I saw them pull in. There was also the baconatorsprite family who never ordered anything but Baconator meals with a Sprite for every single member of their six-person family. Not to mention Howard who worked at the Holiday Inn across the street and came in every week for his #6. Or the horrid woman who threw chicken nuggets at my face that one time that afterwards thought I saw everywhere. The list goes on and on. This doesn't even include my coworkers. Some were insufferable and were the topic of most of the crew's gossip; others were great people whom I miss dearly. Biz, for example, is a heavyset middle-aged guy who looks like he might eat children for breakfast but actually knows all the words to The Little Mermaid. He is one of the most hilarious people I have ever met. Anyway, Thoreau doesn't seem to mind the fact that Howard or John or Biz aren't a part of his nature-filled life, but I wonder if maybe that would have been different if he had gotten more letters in the mail.