When you have nothing to do during the day, you can avoid feeling like a bum by going to a coffee shop. Maybe you’re unemployed; maybe you work nights; maybe you’re a student on winter break. Leaving your house, for any reason, can save you from feeling as though you’ve wasted a day. Wasting a day, even if you’re somehow productive at home (maybe you’ve finally sent those thank you notes from your sweet sixteen), makes it easy to go to bed hating yourself.
Going to a coffee shop gives you a reason to put on “real people clothes.” Even if it’s just a pair of leggings and crew neck sweater, you feel better than you would in GAP boxers and a tee-shirt you only now remember was your ex’s.
Should you choose to leave your home, you have to be prepared to spend some money—five bucks, maybe. It might add up if you go frequently, but this is a good excuse to start a rewards account or acquire one of those cards the barista stamps each time you get a coffee. Maybe, if you’re really into working the system, you can befriend a barista who will give you discounted or—maybe if you’re sleeping with them—free drinks.
One of the biggest decisions you will make in your life is, At which coffee shop will I become a regular? First, if you think I’m about to shame chain café–goers, then you’ve clearly mistaken me for a beret-wearing, typewriter-clacking hipster. Starbucks is a fine place to spend time, especially if you are looking for a place with a rewards program. Just be prepared. By this, I mean A) you will probably see a lot of people you know and B) the music might be too loud for you to focus on that “next great American novel” you’re working on. The latter is especially relevant during the holidays (which start the day after Halloween), as Starbucks blares holiday music to remind you to try their Reindeer Breast Milk Dirty Chai Snowflake-sprinkled Frappuccino, or the Peppermint Mocha.
At a less mainstream place, there might be comfier seating, upon which you might do better work; this essay was started in a coffee shop on a wooden chair that screeched with every slight movement—take that as you will. The coziest of shops, however, have mugs and saucers. The place melts into a den, where fires flicker. Maybe Al Greene spins on vinyl. Maybe I’m constructing an unattainable setting. Maybe I should open my own coffee shop.
Choosing a café is like choosing a therapist; the preferred credentials are unique to the individual. The selection involves an examination of your taste, personality, mental health. For example, I need calm spaces to combat my anxiety which lives to thwart my productivity. The music should be quiet—present, but quiet. My drink should be poured into a ceramic mug, steam swirling above. Most importantly, there should be free wi-fi and outlets within every six feet.
Maybe others prefer fluorescent lighting (sociopaths perhaps), but I require lighting that seems as though it comes from several fireplaces—bright enough so I can see but dim enough so I can breathe.
Of course, should this ideal coffee shop actually exist, it would probably be very expensive, rightfully so, because the coffee would always satisfy. It would be strong but not too bitter, cozy but not too hot, fragrant but not too sweet.
If you think I’m some coffee snob, then revel in the fact that I drink three RedBulls per week. I do this on my way to work, when I need an instant boost after having gone to bed at two the night before. When I get coffee, it is not because I am on-the-go. Rather, it is something to fill the void in my stomach, my schedule, maybe even my heart.
