March 21, 2007
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I think my affection for my coffee shop has long since reached the level where I should just create a “coffee blogging” category and have done with it. I can’t imagine anyone actually wanting to read the things I write on this place – like the time that I spend here, the entries I write about the experience are personal indulgences. Below the fold, then, before I bore everyone visiting the site…
Now that the term is back in session, my coffeeshop is buzzing with activity – I am no longer (as I seemed to be for months and months over the summer) the sole patron through the quiet morning period. Others now usually arrive before I do – and sometimes those others even sit at “my” table… I have an order of preference for such things – I prefer a specific booth in the nether reaches of the catacombs but, if this isn’t available, will make do with the booth adjacent (a less favourable position because it is more brightly lit). If both are occupied, as they were this morning, then I’ll occupy one of the fragments of the sundered tree trunk and, if those are occupied, then I’ll grudgingly accept a move to the front of the establishment – preferably in one of the alcoves that sunlight doesn’t reach.
Now that things are getting a bit busier, I’ve been feeling a bit greedy seizing my preferred spot, as it comfortably sits three or four people, and so I’m forcing groups to seek out less shadowy and obscure seating arrangements. I had been wondering whether the staff might be slightly annoyed that I won’t sit at one of the many tables that are clearly designed for one person. (And, might I add, are profoundly uncomfortable – I love the artistic bricoleurism of the interior of this place but, for some reason, this always seems to translate into the installation of awkward protruberances on the small tables, such that you must either sit very far back from the table – making it impossible to type or eat – or sit at a normal distance, at the cost of constantly bruising your knee on some ruggedised aesthetic outcropping…)
Today I found both booths occupied when I arrived, and so I settled at one of the tree trunks, opened the laptop, and started replying to student emails. Absorbed in this task, I didn’t notice when my booth became free – until, that is, the cook wandered out and started shooing me with a stray dishtowel: “Your spot!” she pointed, “Your spot!” If even the staff share the sense that something is out of its place when I’m not sitting here, who am I to disagree?