My Cast of Characters
I’ve never been a morning person. The alarm clock is scarier than any George Romero movie I’ve ever seen. But the older I get, the better I’m getting at naturally waking up early on the weekends. Don’t get me wrong. During the work week, my body wants to sleep until the afternoon because it knows it can’t. But on Saturday morning, I find myself up and at ‘em sometime within the 7 o’clock hour.
On these days, I like to start slowly over a cup of coffee or two at the nearby coffee shop. And observe the people who come and go, here. I challenge myself to imagine who they are; where they’re come from and going to. Partially from stereotypes. But mostly through the small details that others may look past. The details that only officers or writers would notice.
Like the 40-something man in the cargo khaki pants and long sleeve shirt, with generic tan ball cap pull tightly over his head. He sits at his laptop, catching up on an Excel spreadsheet with more columns than the Parthenon. The khakis and hat look out of place on him. Despite it being his attempt at weekend comfort, he really feels at home in the business suit and tie that he wears the other five days a week. These khakis and hat are stuffier than the tucked in, nothing out of place look he has to keep at the office.
Or the girls who walk in wearing their sweatpants and shirt, with hair pulled up into a pony and not a stitch of makeup. In college, this look was only reserved for the public when they had an 8:45am class. On the weekend, it was saved for a morning on the couch after drinking cheap beer and shots of rail liquor. Now, a few years out of college, they’re gaining comfort in the early stages of what will become a career. This coffee shop stop is their reward for completing a morning class at a nearby fitness center.
Of course the older couple in their late 50s, early 60s is already here. They begin every Saturday over coffee and sandwiches. The husband reads the newspaper and orates his opinions on said-articles to the wife. Sometimes she gives a brief retort. But usually she just enjoys her breakfast and lets his statements speak for themselves. They will leave here to meet up with Ted and Sandy for the afternoon. The husband and Ted worked together for years, where they became close friends. And now both having opted for early retirement, each of the couples spend most Saturday afternoons together where they will inevitably spend most of their time talking about the old shop and their inept foreman.
Then there’s the guy who sits at a table with his laptop. Sipping his mug of the day’s mild blend. Writing about the people that he sees coming and going. While his resume and business cards would never say so, he fancies himself a writer at heart. It’s the thoughts and dialogue that jump into his head and make their way to paper or computer which bring him the same kind of satisfaction that others get from restoring an old junker car to its former glory, building a deck off the back of a home with their bare hands, or just strumming on their acoustic guitar. Every Saturday or Sunday morning, he comes to the coffee shop much in the same way middle-aged men attend the MLB Fantasy Camps during Spring Training. It allows him to be the writer he reads about and still imagines he could be some day.
Please Note The Change To Our Coffice Hours
I sit here in the coffee shop I’ve frequented nearly every week now for the better part of seven months. The baristas are the same. As are a couple of the regulars. But it all looks so different, today.
After using their free WiFi and $1.80 unlimited free coffee refills to fuel me through job applications and draft after draft of cover letters, today I sit here still with my wallet-friendly coffee, but not a Job Search Engine in sight. No resumes on my computer desktop. And Gmail loaded up not to write and send a cover letter, but to Gchat with friends inbetween my own creative writing ventures.
You can probably tell that yes, I finally start a new job (a week from today). And I’m ecstatic. About the people I’ll be working with and for. The work itself. Oh, and also about not having to talk about myself in cover letter form anymore. Do you know how hard it is for me to talk about myself and what I bring to the table employment-wise, without using bad puns and making sweatervest references? I felt like Michael Scott being tempted with great “That’s what she said” material, yet not being allowed to pull the trigger on them.
Trust me. It’s really hard.
I’ve spent so much time in coffee shops during the daytime over the last seven plus months, that I coined a term for it. The Coffice. It was my coffee shop office while I didn’t have an actual office to go to. It was the place that gave me purpose to wake up by alarm every morning with somewhere to go, so as to never allow myself to become lazy. It kept me socializing with people, so that I didn’t become a Unabomber-esque hermit … well, y’know, minus his love for all things pipe bombs.
As much as I love the Coffice, I’ll be happy not to have to be here during the work week anymore. Future Coffice excursions will be known as the Writer’s Coffice, and it’ll be to work on my screenplay or blog posts. Of course, while people-watching.
And hopefully, in time, over lattes again rather than just regular coffee.
If I was making one of those hand-traced turkeys, this would certainly appear on one of the multi-colored fingers of the turkey.
The Breakfast (Blend) Club
Lately, while working on cover letters and sending out resumes, I enjoy moving my home office to the coffee shop when possible. Or as I’ve dubbed it, The Coffice.
At most places, chain or no chain, you can get a mug of coffee for around the dollar mark with free or inexpensive refills. After spending a few days a week in the cozy confines of The Coffice, I’ve noticed a trend developing, regardless of the establishment.
Coffee shops are a lot like the cafeteria back in school. Cliques begin forming around the different tables. And don’t you dare attempt to infiltrate a table if you aren’t a member of said clique.
One table is for the Stay At Home Moms who stray from home for coffee and gossip with one another. Yes, the gossip portion of that stereotype still happens.
Another table is for the Cheers-like regulars, with whom ever Barista knows their names (and drinks). Upon arrival, they literally begin in the middle of the sentence they ended at, the day prior. They’re the loudest table, but also some of the nicest people you’ll find there. In school, they’d probably be the lunch table with the Drama kids.
Of course, what table would be complete without those who just keep to themselves and do their homework? They’re focused. Able to multi-task with both, their work happening and the consumption of their drink/eats. These people started this way back in school and have perfected it to the point they’re at, now. Don’t bother them, and they won’t bother you. However, I’m going to let you in on a secret. They appreciate a polite nod and smile of acknowledgment.
Then you have the table with business men who just want an excuse to get out of the office. Their meeting with one another isn’t very important, otherwise they’d be holding it at one of the participants’ companies or a hotel conference room. But this way, they get out of the office, and because it’s with someone from another company, they can write off the lattes and bakery.
See also: why our economy’s in a shit heap. They were the kids who would steal a slice of pizza off the plate of a kid sitting at a neighboring table, in school. Because they could.
These tendencies, along with the way we continue to carry on with Facebook and Twitter, just reinforces the notion that while we’d like to think otherwise, we never truly leave high school behind. As much as most of us wanted to get out and grow up as quickly as possible in those days, we now find comfort in reverting back to that which feels natural from those experiences.
All the way down to being disappointed when they are all out of our favorite drink, be it the mini cartons of chocolate milk then, or the hazelnut cappuccino, now.
This is my blog. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My blog is my best friend.
