My Coffee Shop Addiction

I’m not addicted to coffee; I’m addicted to coffee shops.  To tell the truth, I don’t even like the taste of coffee that much, but I do like coffee shops.  I like their atmosphere and the casual, laid-back attitude.  Coffee shops provide a sanctuary from claustrophobic, downtown offices and crowded, hectic shopping centers.  Best of all, a coffee shop is a place to locate kindred souls, fellow coffee drinkers who seek refuge from the rat race.  People tend to have loyalty to their chosen coffee shop because, like bars, each has its own personality.

By coffee shop, I am not referring to those “temporary” buildings offering drive-thru service.  Those are for the serious coffee drinkers, the ones who need a cup on the commute to work.  For someone like me, these completely miss the point.  Drinking coffee is like meditation and should be done in an environment that encourages contemplation.

I work in downtown Anchorage.  I ride the bus in to work each weekday morning and I visit a coffee shop prior to going to the office.  It helps put a pleasant break between my commute and the actual beginning of work.  My favorite place for this is Sassafras next to 5th Avenue Mall.  They’re locally owned and I know the barristas by name.  Since I’m a regular, they know what I like to drink so there’s no need to order.  They have pastries, fruit, teas and other stuff too.  They serve lunch but let’s face it; at 7:00 AM it’s a coffee shop, not a café.  I like that it has First Friday art up on the walls.  Also, they make really good coffee too.

At Sassafras, I can usually tell which barrista is working as soon as I walk in just by listening to the music that is playing.  They have a small boom box and the employees bring in their own music.  Each one has their own style and you may hear jazz, folk or reggae depending on who was opening the shop that morning.  I’ve sometimes discussed the music with them and gotten suggestions on new artists.  Usually, I meet my friend, Richard, at the shop.  We browse through the local free newspapers.  We discuss our weekend and what we accomplished, or didn’t accomplish.  This makes our transition to work better than the rush to commute and then immediately flinging into the hectic fray at the office.  We know the other customers and we greet each other and talk about our weekend plans.  It’s a comfortable place.

But one morning, it didn’t work that way.  When I arrived at the shop shortly after 7:00 AM, Richard was waiting at the entrance.  The door was locked, the lights were off and there were no signs of life.  There was a pile of newspapers and pastries left at the door.  We discussed our options and decided to go to a different coffee shop that morning.  We are fortunate in that we have a large number of locally owned coffee houses through our city, but in this case, the only coffee shop that we knew of within walking distance was a corporate-owned store with a national brand name.  We decided to hoof it over there and were on our way.

When we reached the corporate store, the differences with my usual coffee joint were obvious.  It was much larger with a large counter full of items that I didn’t want to buy.  There were two people working behind the counter, a man and a woman.  The man seemed to be loaded with caffeine.  He had wide-open eyes and smile that appeared to be just short of drug induced.  I stepped up to the counter.
“WELCOME.  WHAT CAN I GET YOU?” the man yelled.  The wide grin stretched his facial skin a little shy of the breaking point.
Rich and I looked over the large menu.  It was long and I didn’t recognize many of the items.  I was worried that I’d order something unusual and undrinkable so I stuck with something familiar.  I ordered a white chocolate mocha.
“ONE WHITE CHOCOLATE MOCHA!” the man yelled.
“ONE WHITE CHOCOLATE MOCHA COMING UP!” responded the woman with a similar decibel level.  She immediately started to work and so I paid, left a tip and moved down the counter to where she was located.

As I looked around the shop, I noticed that the chairs were arranged into conversation pits and the place was decorated as if you had called the Home Shopping Channel and said “give me a Starbucks.  And make it trendy.” If you try too hard to be trendy, you can become a facade.  This place had all the trappings but no soul, a sort of a McDonalds version of a coffee house.  Unlike my regular joint, none of the customers seemed to know each other.  I was used to greeting familiar faces but in this place, I know no one and no one knew me.

“ONE WHITE CHOCOLATE MOCHA!” yelled the woman.  She placed the coffee on the counter and beamed a big smile.  Her eyes were like headlights.  This was starting to freak me out.

I sat down and waited while Richard went through an experience similar to mine to get his coffee.  When he sat down at the table, we surveyed the room.  There was a chalkboard sign advertising that a new jazz CD was available for sale.  Not surprizingly the music being played over the shop’s sound system was the same.  My regular shop didn’t try to sell music.  Although there were more customers here, they appeared to be mostly tourists awaiting a scheduled bus or van pickup at the Egan Center.  This shop’s name was familiar to them.  The same brand name store selling the same brand name coffee with cool trademarked names for specialty drinks.  This store was selling coffee mugs, coffee beans and coffee makers.  All with the corporate stamp of approval for a nice advertisement.

And there was something else that bothered me.  In my regular shop, I knew the owner.  I knew how hard she worked.  I knew that the money I spent there went to help her pay bills.  At the corporate store, my money probably helped the stockholders as much as anyone.  When we purchase a product, whether it’s coffee, clothes or food, we’re purchasing more than the physical product; we’re purchasing the spirit of the item also.  This is something you need to consider.  Is your purchase helping a small businesswoman pay her mortgage or are you helping a corporate CEO buy another vintage sports car?  Are you helping the workers’ pay their grocery bills or are you paying for the retiling of a board member’s summer house swimming pool?  Think about it.  Are you paying for a life of poverty for a farmer or factory worker?  Are you purchasing damage to the environment?

The next morning, my regular coffee shop was open on time.  I went in and the girl at the counter smiled and asked me if I wanted my usual.  I didn’t ask about the what happened yesterday because it really didn’t matter.  A couple of days later, I learned that the girl scheduled to open the shop overslept but, like I said, it really doesn’t matter.  I like unpredictability.  The shop isn’t owned by a corporation and I like that.  There isn’t a standardized procedure for everything and I like that too.  The place is comfortable and it makes me feel welcome.  I’ll take the occasional hiccups in stride because to me that’s just part of the personality.  I’ll take the idiosyncrasies because they come as part of the soul of the place.  I may not need the coffee but the coffee shop has me hooked.

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