The Recounting of a Scene

I've decided to splurge on dinner. That's right, I'm dining at Panera. Why not? Tomorrow's a holiday (meaning we don't have class), so I've all the time in the world to relax tonight. Each Panera I visit seems to be arranged differently than the last. The placement of the cafe line in relation to the bakery line, the booths, everything is just a bit off. The booths on the far end of the restaurant are all filled up, but most of the tables are empty. The cashiers look at me while I take my time scrutinizing the menu. After I order I snatch up a booth and see that mostly young people are here. There's only one table of senior citizens.
Classical music is playing softly overhead, but it's interrupted by the buzzer that signals my order is ready.
There are five girls, about nineteen-years-old, gathered at the back table, all clad in athletic shorts and t-shirts. Two booths down from me there's a girl with her back to me.There are chopsticks in her hair and she's sitting across from a friend with striking black and red hair. The smoothie drinker in the corner booth is studying with a pen clenched between her teeth. Another smoothie drinker is sitting by the fireplace, smiling at his laptop. The salad eaters across from me are discussing Dante's Inferno and the senior citizens are all munching on a "You Pick Two" half sandwich, half soup combo.
I, the tomato soup drinker, am relaxing from a long week and enjoying their company.
Everyone except the studier and laptop user are engaging in conversation. The old man wearing blue suspenders is sitting with two older women. One of these women cracks up laughing every few minutes. People walk by outside, unaware of the people (or person) staring at them from inside Panera.
The laptop user nods at me, for some reason, on his way out of the restaurant. A man I hadn't noticed leaves wearing a biker helmet and jacket. I watch him ride away a few moments later. After finishing their food, a young couple moves from their booth over to the front of the fireplace, just talking. A man with long, curly grey hair enters with his two young daughters.
The old woman sips on an iced tea that's not half empty by the time she leaves with the other woman and man.
When there are no customers up front, laughter rings out from behind the cashier counter.
The young girlfriend is trying to wrestle something from her boyfriend's hands.
"This is painful," he says.
"If you were a good boyfriend you'd give it to me!"
I have no idea what they're quarreling over, but the boy obviously noticed me watching them. He stuck a quarter in his eye, to which his girlfriend responded, "Stop being a ham."
One of the salad eaters gets a phone call, answers it, and convinces the other salad eater it's time to go home. Now only the man with his daughters and the young couple remain.
It's 7:06 and one of the cashiers starts sweeping around the self-serve coffee counter.
I leave the remaining customers and workers at 7:07--wondering if I'll miss anything exciting after I go.