My First (or Second?) "Cold Call"

Everyone has a story. It’s something I’m beginning to discover the more I write. Dr. Longinow and Professor Mosqueda sent us out on a “cold call” again today—no research, no idea who we were going to interview. This time, however, we didn’t get an assignment; they didn’t give us a question to ask or a theme to follow.

We’re already pretty intimidated by the prospect of having to walk up to a complete stranger and ask for ten, twenty minutes of their precious time. It’s complicated ten-fold by the fact that we have no idea what story we’re pursuing. Because we don’t know who we’re interviewing, we don’t have a chance to do any research ahead of time or prepare questions in advance.

I walked around aimlessly for five, maybe ten minutes. It seemed like forever. Every place I thought to go, there were already other students from my class interviewing people. It just felt really awkward, like I was treading on the territory that they had already claimed.

I was beginning to get nervous again. You’d better just suck it up and find someone, I told myself. Our instructions were to find someone different from us—in my case, not Asian and not a female. That at least narrowed it down for me. I scanned around the fountain area and felt my heart sink into my stomach.

Professor Mosqueda was standing a short distance away from me, scanning the area around Fluor Fountain. He seemed so relaxed; I felt distraught. I quickly turned away. The first person I laid eyes on was a tall guy dressed in very urban street wear.

He was walking slowly enough to indicate that he wasn’t in too great a hurry. That was encouraging. I walked up to him.

“Hi. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Um…yeah,” he said, looking over my head towards the cafeteria. “When does the café close?”

“Oh, you mean, for breakfast?” I said, tracing his gaze. “Um…well, I can always just walk in with you, if you don’t mind.”

“Uh…ok, sure” he replied a little hesitantly.

“My name’s Lynnette, by the way,” I decided to throw in. I walked along side of him, my pen and notebook in hand, and began asking him the basics—name, year, hometown, the usual.

We headed into the cafeteria, where we searched for the girl that he was meeting for breakfast. We explained to her the reason that I was intruding upon their morning meal, and she didn’t seem to mind at all. I think they felt a little privileged or special that I had chosen one of them to interview.

Whatever they felt, both were very obliging. I started off with simple things, like his major, which led to talking about his dream of becoming a pastor. At one point, I got him off on a tangent about being a bassist for a band that practiced in his garage.

I managed to re-route our conversation back to his classes, and how they are helping to prepare him for the calling God has placed in his life. And that led to talking about his vision of ministry, his heart for the city and people of San Francisco, and the work that he has already done there.

What I thought would just be a journalistic exercise (which it was) ended up being quite an interesting interview. That got me thinking about what it's like to meet and talk to people. Tonight, for instance, as I was ordering my smoothie at the cashier of the cute little café Grace and I like to visit, I got into a conversation with the owner about literary theory.

Turns out, he graduated from UCI as an English major (he double majored with Art History) before deciding to run the café with his wife. We talked about everything from Derrida to American vs. British literature, to professors, to what kind of writing we like to do.

I love meeting people—they’re really fascinating. Everyone has their own story, if we only stop long enough to listen to them. Sometimes, we think our lives are very boring, very pedestrian. But there is always something unique or surprising or interesting to be found if we’re willing to search deeper.

That’s what makes writing a worthwhile activity. It’s about people. People like to read about other people. It’s inherent in the human condition. We are drawn to the stories and lives of other people who are and are not like us. The job of the writer is to tell those stories in a way that is vibrant and compelling. Hopefully, someday, that will be my job.