There’s a certain joy in the mundane, an art to be found in the unremarkable. I’m not talking about that worn-out metaphor of “stopping to smell the roses.” Nope. I’m talking about the quirky, often underrated pastime of people watching. Yes, people watching! That gloriously weird hobby where we imagine the lives of strangers as they engage in the most routine of activities. After all, is there anything more amusing than making up backstories for folks in grocery store aisles or train stations? (Besides eating chocolate ice cream for breakfast, but let’s save that indulgent confession for another time.)

I recently found myself sitting in a café, nursing an overpriced latte, pretending to read something deep and philosophical (when, in truth, I was rereading a text from my dentist about my upcoming cleaning). A couple sat at the table next to mine—an older man wearing a cap that screamed “retired but still making a scene,” and a younger woman tapping furiously on her phone with a visible exasperation that I imagined came from the man saying something like, “Back in my day, you didn’t need Yelp to find a decent restaurant.”

I began crafting a full-on drama in my head: They were estranged father and daughter, meeting for the first time in years. He, once a boisterous leader of a motorcycle gang, now turned delicate as a soap bubble. She, a rising tech entrepreneur, always on the verge of snapping from the sheer weight of her success. The dad came to ask for her help—but for what? And why today, of all days? Did he suddenly remember it was her birthday, or was it that he ran out of excuses not to see her?

I’m sure none of this was true. They probably just met on Craigslist to exchange baseball cards. But still, for a brief moment, I turned their ordinary cup of joe into an espresso-fueled Days of Our Lives episode. And isn’t that the point? People watching, when done right, let’s us flex our imaginations in ways that keep our minds from turning into that unappetizing combination of broccoli and tofu.

I watched as another person—young guy in his 20s, clearly late for something or another—rushed past, holding a ratty backpack and wearing an expression that said, “I’m tired but pretending I’m not.” There were only two ways this would go. Either he’s the sort of dude who’s five minutes late to everything, or he’s living out some absurdist nightmare where he’s constantly misjudging time, always showing up exactly five minutes early… for yesterday.

But before I could mentally sort him into either the “Forever Tardy” or “Temporal Trainwreck” category, he did something unexpected: he stopped, looked around like he was lost, and then sat down on a bench with a resigned, “I give up” sigh. I had to rework his entire story arc. Perhaps he just got some life-altering news. Maybe he’s on his way to propose to someone who’s currently breaking up with him via text, right as he’s sitting there. Or maybe he just realized he forgot his headphones, and now his entire subway ride is going to be an exercise in unadulterated existential dread. Whatever it was, I found myself rooting for the guy.

What’s the appeal of this peculiar pastime? Perhaps it’s that, for a moment, we become the omniscient narrators of a thousand unwritten novels. There’s no greater thrill than letting your imagination go on a spree. And you know what? Sometimes you hit upon an insight that is as illuminating as it is nonsensical. Like, maybe that dad was a retired biker, and maybe he was reaching out to the daughter he never had the courage to meet before. Or maybe he was just asking her how to set up his Netflix account.

So, the next time you’re stuck waiting for a friend, in line for your morning caffeine fix, or on that interminable train commute, don’t just scroll through social media like a zombie! Pick a stranger (not in a creepy way) and build them a backstory. If nothing else, it’ll keep you entertained until the next episode of your favorite show drops. After all, sometimes reality just needs a little psychologistmimi twist.

And who knows? That person staring blankly at the traffic light might just be the world’s most reluctant time traveler. Or, you know, just someone who forgot what street they parked on.

Now, where’s my trophy for Best Imaginary Storyteller of All Cafes?