The Existential Joy of Going to a Café
You peel yours eyes open to find the sunbeams kissing your face and immediately realize it must be later than usual. You snatch your phone charging next to the bed and nervously check your phone to find it’s ten o’ clock. You were expecting find a dozen missed calls from your boss but also realize it’s Tuesday, and you don’t work on Tuesdays. The initial adrenaline stemming from the possibility of being late subsides like a scratch to a terrible itch. Nonetheless, it’s time to get up, for the day awaits, yet you aren’t certain for what exactly. There aren’t any plans made nor are any friends available to improvise for some.
However, you’ve been meaning to try a pair of cafes that you googled the other day while on break. They aren’t too far from your house and only a couple train stops away. Sadly, you have no car, but it could be worse. You decide to eat a plain breakfast of eggs and oatmeal because drinking coffee on an empty stomach always makes you hungry afterwards. After showering, getting dressed, and watching a couple of YouTube videos on your phone, you head out and comfortably stroll towards the metro station.
While walking, you look at all the people walking and motioning their own lives. Some fidgeting with napkins, trying to eat their Dunkin’ donuts in a rush Others while glamorously strutting like they have all the time… and probably money in the world. You think how it seems impossible to coexist within the same space but live so drastically different lives from them. Maybe they too have the same thought as you do but always continue walking to avoid the uncomfortable realization. Eventually, you get to the station, go up the stairs, and wait for the next train to take you to north side of the city. From the distance, you see the train coming and prepare to board it.
You take a seat with your back to the sunlight and get on your phone to kill the time while you wait for your stop. You check the latest standings for the sports you follow and google random facts to keep you from looking away from your phone. You get a slightly nervous from making eye contact with people sitting in front of you, so you treat the phone screen like oxygen mask. You hope that nobody asks you for directions because you’re terrible at remembering street names. At best, you’d be able to tell that certain location is next to a Target or Subway.
Moments later, you’ve reach the stop closest to the café. You leave the train, head down, and stroll towards your destination. The café is about 300 meters from the train stop, so it isn’t too much of hassle getting there. Google Maps estimates it will take 5 minutes of walking straight and one left turn to arrive there. While walking, you begin having thoughts about what to order once you enter the café. You don’t want to keep a line waiting or annoy the barista with indecisiveness. If you order a caramel macchiato, will it be too “normie” ? On the other hand, you’re not sure that ordering double shot will be worth the journey either. Just to be safe, you check the Cafe’s menu online, hoping to find something that you’ll enjoy. The Café has a seasonal dark roast and mint latte that sounds compelling. Sounds like that’s the one.
After a few more steps, you begin to see the café. You take a few seconds to stop and admire the external look of the place. It’s small with a smooth matte finish of red paint around a black framed, see-through door. Next to the door, a large glass window with the Cafe’s name in arched Times New Roman font covers a third of it. You step forwards and find a much more cozier oak finished floor and tables. It’s the kind of place you could probably spend a couple of hours in just reading.
You approach the iPad and barista near, hoping get the mint seasonal. Unfortunately, they respond “sorry we’re all out of mint.” Damn, now you have to reprocess your entire order. For some reason, you have a mental breakdown of about 10 seconds because you now have to make a different choice about what to drink. Eventually, you decide you should get a regular cappuccino. You get your order processed and take a seat by one tables near the window. There is not many people around, so it feels lees awkward to sit by yourself staring at your phone for company.
You remembered that you were messaging this person on Bumble the other day , but they haven’t responded. You thought it was strange that they messaged you first and responded yet they taking a few extra days just to reset with “what’s up ?”. You thought the person seemed like your type, but appearances can be misleading you learned. Then you think , “is this how it’s always going to be ?”, just a wild west of hot and cold with strangers who seem appealing at first. Maybe you should have just asked them out as the first response to mean business.
You hear the barista call out your order, so you get up from your seat and walk over to pick up the drink. It’s in a nice traditional ceramic cup. You thank the barista and head back to your original position. You can’t help but admire the fluffy whiteness that covers the top of the drink. It’s like dome of creamy whiteness resting on espresso like a warm tent. You bring the cup towards your lips and feel the fuzz just slightly tickle, as you take in the first sip. Like hug on a winter’s day, you feel a sort of alleviation inside yourself. Perhaps this was all that was needed to feel alive again. Just a nice of cup coffee on a Tuesday afternoon.
Every sip of the cappuccino just keeps getting better. You think to yourself that it is perhaps better to just be alone and have the freedom to venture out solo. There is freedom in solitude that perhaps is hindered by the illusion of needing somebody else. Perhaps the barista understands this too, which is why they made the cappuccino extra foamy. Running out of the seasonal drink was deliberate move to get me to reflect while drinking the cappuccino. Surely that must be it, for they were clearly trying to convey that message through the smoothness of the drink. Yes, they understand you and all that comes with being alone. After all, the barista must surely feel the loneliness that radiates from certain customers in the café. They see it everyday, the eyes of their fellow people just wallowing in their existence.
You turn your head in hopes of finding the barista smile in agreement for understanding their hidden message. But alas, they’re not there. You look down and your cup is empty. You look down on your phone and realize it’s two o’ clock . You’re still by yourself, damn. Time to go.
