Chronicles Of A Coffee Shop

 

Chronicles Of A Coffee Shop

For quite a while, I’d been seeking a night-time place to hang out that wasn’t a bar. A café of sorts, where I could read or get some work done or whatever.

And I finally found it. There’s art on the walls, books on the shelves, and all the tea you could want to drink. (Coffee is offered too, but I never saw the point of having caffeine after the Sun goes away.) The place was exactly what I was wanting.

Careful what you wish for.

First visit

The first thing I noticed upon entering was the lack of music. Maybe it was just turned off, I thought incorrectly.

The second thing I noticed was the guy behind the counter. He had a scraggly look about him, more ‘disheveled’ than ‘hippie’. I’m fairly bad at initiating conversations, but I was determined.

I asked if he was the proprietor of the establishment, since movies have made it seem so cool to phrase it that way. He was. Him and his mother.

His mother.

The way he spoke about her definitely gave me a Norman Bates vibe, without all that murder nonsense.

And based on that, I shall refer to him as Norman. Therefore, his mom will be Norma.

(I just realized this might get confusing.)

The third thing I noticed was a desk-top computer that appeared to be for public use. It must be a quirk, I thought, part of the place’s charm.

Nope. From what I could tell, it exists solely for one old guy to use. I don’t know his age, but he must have experienced the Civil War. He appeared to be checking his e-mail.

Surely, this is a joke, right? A person with a camera will pop out from somewhere to surprise me and explain everything. But that didn’t happen. This was real.

After getting an oolong tea, I sat as far as possible from a family playing a game. (Other than them, I was the only customer. The old guy didn’t buy anything.) But I could hear them clearly, especially since there was no music.

It was a man with two kids who I assumed were his children. The boy spoke in a voice that I guessed was something he does all the time, since his sister kept telling him to stop while her phone constantly made a chirping noise. I mistakenly thought the father was the responsible one, but his singing was louder than either of the kids.

This was truly awful, but I try to not let customers influence my opinion of a place.

But they must have been regulars, because Norman joined their game.

This was not the environment for relaxation, but I really wanted it to be.

After all, this must be just an odd night…

Second visit

Before returning, I called to see if the café was open because that day was a holiday. The person answering had such a high-pitched voice that I was convinced the phone number was wrong.

Unsure, I asked anyway. To my surprise, it was Norman, who said it would be open.

When I walked in, the old guy was already sitting at the desk-top computer.

But there was another person- a guy my age was sitting in a lounge chair, speaking loudly. To himself. He must have been crazy, or whatever the proper term is nowadays.

The only other non-employee was a woman who must have been around during Henry VIII’s reign. And she was staring at… I don’t even know. Nothing, from what I can tell. It was like when a dog sees something in the darkness, only scarier.

I got an Earl Grey and sat with my computer. Everything was silent, until the old guy opened some kind of link for a song that repeated over and over. It didn’t stop, but it broke the silence. I couldn’t tell if he was unaware or just didn’t have the capacity to care.

I looked at the old lady to see her sleeping, but still up-right.

The self-talker abruptly left without acknowledging anybody.

Third visit

I ran into Norman at a bar before going to the café and chatted with him briefly. He said he was out with a friend and that his mom was running the place in his absence, but he’d be there soon.

This was it. I was going to meet Norma.

If I went, of course. I looked in, then decided against visiting. But Norman had been speaking in a friendly tone to a bartender I thought was cute. Maybe he would help her close then bring his group to the café. So, I went back.

Norma was a very nice lady who had a lot to say and was about 200 years old. I mentioned seeing Norman before getting there and she pretended to be mad that he was at a bar. Or maybe she was serious- I couldn’t tell.

She rambled for a while until the power went out, which she claimed was probably due to them running more lights than usual. Then she asked me to light her way into the bathroom, where the circuit box is. She flipped a switch, then promptly left the room while muttering about turning something off.

Back at the counter, I made the mistake of asking Norma about some kind of red tea. She had no idea what it tasted like, but she’d heard that red tea contains more caffeine than black. She thought. Maybe.

After not getting any kind of answer, I ordered the mystery tea and was not charged for it. Norma didn’t know how to work the register. Norma, who was tasked with running the café.

I sat down to read and Norman eventually came in, alone.

Fourth visit

By now, you’re probably wondering why I keep going back to this den of sadness. I want it to be great and hope it will wow me one day.

When I walked in, some guy was playing guitar. If it was for anybody, they were not present to hear it.

Norman came out of the back with some crackers as if he owed them to somebody. Guitar Guy shouted, ‘That’s it’, and put the instrument down. He chatted with Norman for a bit, paid his $19 tab (what did he order!?), and left.

I was the only customer again, until the old lady showed up. She had many bags and promptly sat on the couch to fall asleep. She woke up to tell Norman that she had to find somewhere to stay for the night and driving was not an option, since she had no vehicle.

I don’t think this place was designed for bums, but it’s where they hang out. Like a library, but with lots of tea. And late hours.

The café is having a poetry-reading night soon. I’ll probably check it out.