My Coffee Shop

Around the corner from my office there's a coffee shop I've grown a bit attached to. It's your typical java joint, a few mismatched wood tables and chairs behind the peeling plastic letters of its name stuck on a window, coffee cannisters and flavored syrup bottles cramped together along the wall. It's one of those places you'd pass by without a second glance, stereotypical Store A in quintessential City B. They say that familiarity breeds attraction, a gradual acquaintance eventually chipping away the walls of trepidation and hesitancy, and I have to admit, little JS wooed me in spite of myself. But let's back up for a second, because to properly understand my attachment to JS, you have to understand the long-drawn out history I have with coffee shops.

For years, I'd wanted to find a neighborhood shop I could go to read, to chat, to frequent. Maybe because romantic images of The Writers from the Lost Generation sitting at tables in Paris were etched into my brain; maybe because I wanted to feel brilliantly inspired by coffee fumes; maybe because I just like sitting with a book in a corner and have been trying to find a way to legitimize it for years. Regardless, it took a long time to feel even mildly inspired that I would sniff out a place that resonated with me. Edinburgh was the first city I lived in that gave me hope. The classic, cobble-stoned streets and hearty Scottish mentality had me searching all over Old Town, even hitting up JK Rowling's favorite haunts, cause if it's good enough for JK, then it would be damn good for me. But, shop after shop turned out to be a disappointment, nothing quite fitting my palate. So, little See left the UK jones-ing for a place she could happily call her place.

Then, during Senior Fall, the cafe down the street from K's apartment in Boston is seeming like a great candidate. The vibe seemed right, the food was nummy, and I had a grudging affection for the regular customers. In fact, I was a regular customer, popping in to pick up tea and grub on my daily trot back to the permanent dent I'd left on Apartment #2's couch. I even found myself donning an apron and smiling pretty behind the counter as an employee, buoyant as can be when friends stopped by to say hello, unforgettable shared misery during busy brunches with co-workers who would later introduce me to amazing friends, and a hint of romance as I watched someone special walk by the window and in the door. Yet, something about PF still didn't sit right -- which, in retrospect, might be due to the unsolicited advances of my boss.. hrm -- and while it left a deep mark on my heart, I had my doubts. Or, maybe, I just wasn't ready to dub a coffee shop with such a heavy title, at least not until I felt like I knew that kind of connection was mutual. But, let's be fair, PF left a caffeine addiction that even on my best days, hits me at my core. A couple espresso shots a day for a semester will do that to you. And now, I think about PF and how it still holds a special place in my heart, even if I pretend that I don't.

So, more than a year later and a few coffee shops down the line, I'm feeling pretty numb. No more coffee shops for See. Most of them are pretty negligible and the ones that seemed promising... well perhaps those were worse than being negligible cause those ended in disillusionment with coffee shops period.

Then, something happened at JS this morning. The owner, who at this point has seen me in various states of disarray, handed me my bagel and coffee with a smile. Smiles are underrated. After a few days of serious emotional roller coasters, a smile from an acquaintance-stranger gave me a feeling of warmth I normally wouldn't expect. There I was, scrounging through my wallet for the extra five cents that I needed to pay, feeling like an idiot picking through an unfortunately large load of pennies. And, perhaps sensing my unease, he said, "whatever you have is just fine." It's rare to find shop owners who aren't so tight-fisted they could say something like that. But, add to that a decor I like, my growing affection for the Mission, and my unquestioned appreciation for good service, and... out of nowhere I'd found my coffee shop.

This entry actually isn't about me. It's really more of an allegory, shall we say, for my dear friend, Rysiebops.

So, good sir, here is what I'll tell you. The caffeine addiction never really goes away, I don't think. Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but sometimes there are wounds that never really close. That shop, the one that sticks with you no matter what, the one that made you want to show up first thing in the morning even when you were utterly exhausted you liked it so much... that shop will always be with you, and the only person who ever has the power to take away its meaning, is you. Especially, if that shop feels the same way about you. Maybe you'll find another coffee shop that makes you feel the way this one does, but maybe you'll just find a way to make this coffee shop the only coffee shop you ever deemed worth of the title Rysiebops Place. I'm a romantic at heart, so I believe that some coffee shops are just meant to be. Gros bisous.