I used to be a contender regular.
17:42 on Thursday, March 21, 2002 • 2 responses
It’s becoming clear to me that the biggest obstacle to anything even remotely productive in my academic life (other than my current bout of disillusionment) is my broadband connection. In the hopes of being more productive, I decided to bike down to a coffeehouse just south of Santa Cruz.
It’s been a long time since I’ve spent a day working in a cafe. I used to be a cafe fiend. In Chicago, I used to hang out at the now-defunct Urbus Orbus. I’d walk in and people would say hello and they’d know what I liked. In Portland, Maine, I’d always have a ristretto at Arabica and a small Dark Velvet at JavaNet. In other words, I used to have places I went where everybody knew my name…la la la.
No longer. I’m a hermit. Part of the reason I don’t go to cafes anymore is because I overdosed on them when I first moved to Santa Cruz. I was, for all intents and purposes, living out of my car (long story), and thus, living out of cafes and laundromats. Then I got a home and the last thing I wanted to do was go to a cafe. Then I got broadband and the last thing I wanted to do was experience sunlight.
Since it’s been a while since I’ve spent any real time at a cafe, the experience seems kind of new to me. I’ve been here for 5 hours now and I’m enjoying the aural mixture of roaring espresso machines, the buses outside, the various discussions echoing off the textured ceiling. The smell of large amounts of coffee beans being roasted.
I’ll tell you what I don’t enjoy, though. The smell of this guy’s feet. He settled in next to me about half an hour ago and took his shoes off. He has gray socks that are visibly wet with footsweat in places, and now the place doesn’t smell so much like coffee. It smells like foot. It sounds and looks like foot. This guy’s feet have completely taken over all of my senses.
So I try to tell him, politely, that I’d appreciate it if he put his shoes back on. How does one do that politely? I say, “excuse me, I’m wondering, and forgive me if this is too forward, could you put your shoes back on?”
A middle-aged woman at the table behind me turns around and looks at me, looks at the guy’s feet and says, loudly, “Oh, so that’s where it’s coming from! I thought it smelled like rotting fruit!”
Everyone looks in our direction. Some of the employees are raising eyebrows, some are snickering. I turn towards the guy, who is blushing with both anger and embarrassment, and I say, “sorry, I was trying to be discreet.” He quickly throws his stuff into his backpack and walks out, carrying his shoes. His damp socks leave wet marks on the dark wood floor.
I’d feel bad, but I’m presently occupied manufacturing heartfelt sympathy for the shoe salespeople of the world. And to think summer is just around the corner.
[ and yeah, the cafe has a computer and a broadband connection…damn them ]
Comments closed