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hrjOnce upon a time, in a cozy small town, there was a plaza next to the park downtown where everyone congregated on weekends, and it was flanked by two businesses: Jo’s Coffee Shop and Alex’s Un-Coffee Shop. A scattering of small tables and benches filled the plaza and everyone mingled there no matter which establishment they patronized, or even if they patronized neither. Neighbor greeted neighbor, dogs played together with children out on the grass of the park, and everyone was happy.
Jo’s Coffee Shop had a shining brass and steel espresso machine and a wall of bins full of coffee varieties. All the baristas (none of whom were named Jo, but everyone called them that just the same) could pull a cup with flair. One specialized in making those little pictures in the latte foam that showed up in people’s facebook feeds. But mostly they just concentrated on providing good, fresh coffee to everyone who came in. They even had a rack of personal mugs for the regulars, though they had a knack of making every customer feel like a regular. And when Sarah or Leroy or any of the other elderly customers came in, chances are they found their cup paid for before they could unzip their change purse. Jo’s was an institution, but there was one thing they didn’t provide: anything that wasn’t coffee.
Alex’s Un-Coffee Shop sat cheek-by-jowl next to Jo’s and did an equally thriving business. If you wanted tea, or soda, or a milkshake, or fancy bottled water from artesian springs, or if the sun were over the yardarm and you wanted a glass of wine or a beer or a cocktail; if it were a hot afternoon and you wanted lemonade or if it were a chilly morning and you wanted hot cocoa, or if you’d just come in from your morning run and you wanted some gatorade, then you went to Alex’s. None of the counter staff at Alex’s were named Alex and it wouldn’t have occurred to anyone to call any of them Alex, because at Alex’s you learned to pay attention to who was on duty.
Jeremy was a wiz for making tea. He knew exactly which varieties they had in stock, and which would come closest to what you were looking for. Alex’s didn’t always have all the tea varieties that everyone wanted, but they tried to keep the most popular ones available. And Jeremy knew exactly what temperature the water should be for each and how long it should steep. He wasn’t quite as good at remembering exactly what each customer took in their tea, but the milk and sugar and lemon were there on the sideboard for you to add yourself. On the other hand, if Carla were on duty, you asked for a cup of hot water and picked a teabag from the display because she never could remember exactly how much loose tea to add and she was a bit uncertain on the difference between pekoe and rooibos. Tea was tea to her.
Mikayla loved being on duty in the late afternoon when folks were likely to ask for a cocktail. She loved doing the mixing and pouring with the flair of an artist. And if they were out of your favorite tequila, or if the martini olives were looking a bit off, or if they were running low of an essential mixer, she could whip something up that was so inventive that you’d forget it wasn’t quite what you’d asked for. Mikayla wasn’t quite as knowledgeable about wine--she left that to Cary, but every week Cary drew up a menu of wine descriptions to help the rest of the staff make recommendations, so it was all good. Cary also had a framed poster showing exactly which type of glass each variety of wine should be served in, but you might find your wine being served in a teacup or a water glass instead. When Alex first set up the business there was a rack with all those different sizes and shapes of wine glasses behind the bar, but over the years most of them had gotten broken and with all the different things the place served it took a lot of planning to have specialized equipment for each individual drink. And, after all, the container wasn’t the important thing, was it? But during the summer Mikayla took the morning shift because that was when her kids were at soccer practice. And even if Alex hadn’t been quite strict about not serving alcohol in the mornings, nobody wanted cocktails at that time of day anyway.
On a hot Saturday afternoon, when you’d just finished mowing your lawn and came down to the plaza to relax, the most heavenly thing in the world was a glass of Alex’s lemonade. You’d know if lemonade was on the menu because there would be an enormous display of fresh lemons in the window. They’d take a couple and slice them up right in front of you and squeeze them on one of those old-fashioned juicer thingies. It was the freshest lemonade you could imagine. But the lemons came from Cary’s tree and if Cary were off on a wine buying trip that weekend, you’d have to make do with concentrate.
Pete loved to hang out with his buddies in the plaza on sultry August evenings. And his buddies were always considerate about not drinking beer on the evenings when Pete was there because Pete was in recovery and very serious about it and they wanted to support him. But Pete had a dilemma because he hated coffee. (He was willing to put up with the miasma of coffee at the twelve-step meetings, because you did, but he wasn’t about to drink it himself.) He loved a good chai, but he didn’t want to buy it at Alex’s because he’d have to walk past the bar to order it and he didn’t think that was a good idea. He’d tried asking Jo’s to carry chai but they’d stared at him like he was crazy and said, “We only do coffee; chai isn’t coffee.” So Pete bought little cans of chai at the supermarket on his way to the plaza and drank out of the can. Nobody else minded--it was a public plaza and you could drink whatever you wanted--but Pete always felt a little left out.
On the evenings when Pete wasn’t there, his buddy Mel enjoyed a beer instead. You were never quite sure what beer was going to be available. Cary did the beer stocking as well as the wine, but Cary wasn’t a beer drinker. You could pretty much guarantee that there’d be Corona and some sort of IPA, but after that it was a matter of what was on sale at the supplier. Mel considered himself a bit of a microbrew connoisseur and had offered to advise Cary a few times, but Cary always gave him a harassed look and said, “Maybe some other time, I have a lot to cover today.”
There had been one time, a few years ago, when a few folks had gotten together and talked about starting a new cafe on the third side of the plaza where the old Foster building had sat vacant since anyone could remember. Maybe an organic juice bar where you could get wheatgrass smoothies (Alex’s didn’t do fresh smoothies--not enough demand) and a more extensive variety of herbal teas (Alex’s had one of those assortment boxes from Bigelow, and generally everyone could find something in it that they liked). But the town council had turned them down for a permit because they were worried that there weren’t enough customers for three separate businesses, and if the new place drew too much trade away from Alex’s then they might end up with two empty storefronts on the plaza instead of only one. And between Jo’s and Alex’s, they had all the town’s drinking needs covered, didn’t they? Pete grumbled a bit, because he’d been looking forward to a place that had good chai and didn’t serve alcohol, and after the decision came down he pointed out loudly to all who would listen that the town council were all coffee drinkers, which didn’t endear him to the folks who patronized Jo’s because they thought he had something against coffee. Eventually things settled down and the town council moved on to debating whether to fund a new swing-set in the park.
Everyone loves coming to the plaza on weekends to sit and chat with their friends and sip their beverage of choice. If you drink coffee, you go to Jo’s and they’ll take good care of you. And if you drink anything other than coffee, you go to Alex’s and they’re sure to have something you’re willing to drink. If you come on the right day. And the right person is on duty. And you aren’t too picky.
Jo’s Coffee Shop had a shining brass and steel espresso machine and a wall of bins full of coffee varieties. All the baristas (none of whom were named Jo, but everyone called them that just the same) could pull a cup with flair. One specialized in making those little pictures in the latte foam that showed up in people’s facebook feeds. But mostly they just concentrated on providing good, fresh coffee to everyone who came in. They even had a rack of personal mugs for the regulars, though they had a knack of making every customer feel like a regular. And when Sarah or Leroy or any of the other elderly customers came in, chances are they found their cup paid for before they could unzip their change purse. Jo’s was an institution, but there was one thing they didn’t provide: anything that wasn’t coffee.
Alex’s Un-Coffee Shop sat cheek-by-jowl next to Jo’s and did an equally thriving business. If you wanted tea, or soda, or a milkshake, or fancy bottled water from artesian springs, or if the sun were over the yardarm and you wanted a glass of wine or a beer or a cocktail; if it were a hot afternoon and you wanted lemonade or if it were a chilly morning and you wanted hot cocoa, or if you’d just come in from your morning run and you wanted some gatorade, then you went to Alex’s. None of the counter staff at Alex’s were named Alex and it wouldn’t have occurred to anyone to call any of them Alex, because at Alex’s you learned to pay attention to who was on duty.
Jeremy was a wiz for making tea. He knew exactly which varieties they had in stock, and which would come closest to what you were looking for. Alex’s didn’t always have all the tea varieties that everyone wanted, but they tried to keep the most popular ones available. And Jeremy knew exactly what temperature the water should be for each and how long it should steep. He wasn’t quite as good at remembering exactly what each customer took in their tea, but the milk and sugar and lemon were there on the sideboard for you to add yourself. On the other hand, if Carla were on duty, you asked for a cup of hot water and picked a teabag from the display because she never could remember exactly how much loose tea to add and she was a bit uncertain on the difference between pekoe and rooibos. Tea was tea to her.
Mikayla loved being on duty in the late afternoon when folks were likely to ask for a cocktail. She loved doing the mixing and pouring with the flair of an artist. And if they were out of your favorite tequila, or if the martini olives were looking a bit off, or if they were running low of an essential mixer, she could whip something up that was so inventive that you’d forget it wasn’t quite what you’d asked for. Mikayla wasn’t quite as knowledgeable about wine--she left that to Cary, but every week Cary drew up a menu of wine descriptions to help the rest of the staff make recommendations, so it was all good. Cary also had a framed poster showing exactly which type of glass each variety of wine should be served in, but you might find your wine being served in a teacup or a water glass instead. When Alex first set up the business there was a rack with all those different sizes and shapes of wine glasses behind the bar, but over the years most of them had gotten broken and with all the different things the place served it took a lot of planning to have specialized equipment for each individual drink. And, after all, the container wasn’t the important thing, was it? But during the summer Mikayla took the morning shift because that was when her kids were at soccer practice. And even if Alex hadn’t been quite strict about not serving alcohol in the mornings, nobody wanted cocktails at that time of day anyway.
On a hot Saturday afternoon, when you’d just finished mowing your lawn and came down to the plaza to relax, the most heavenly thing in the world was a glass of Alex’s lemonade. You’d know if lemonade was on the menu because there would be an enormous display of fresh lemons in the window. They’d take a couple and slice them up right in front of you and squeeze them on one of those old-fashioned juicer thingies. It was the freshest lemonade you could imagine. But the lemons came from Cary’s tree and if Cary were off on a wine buying trip that weekend, you’d have to make do with concentrate.
Pete loved to hang out with his buddies in the plaza on sultry August evenings. And his buddies were always considerate about not drinking beer on the evenings when Pete was there because Pete was in recovery and very serious about it and they wanted to support him. But Pete had a dilemma because he hated coffee. (He was willing to put up with the miasma of coffee at the twelve-step meetings, because you did, but he wasn’t about to drink it himself.) He loved a good chai, but he didn’t want to buy it at Alex’s because he’d have to walk past the bar to order it and he didn’t think that was a good idea. He’d tried asking Jo’s to carry chai but they’d stared at him like he was crazy and said, “We only do coffee; chai isn’t coffee.” So Pete bought little cans of chai at the supermarket on his way to the plaza and drank out of the can. Nobody else minded--it was a public plaza and you could drink whatever you wanted--but Pete always felt a little left out.
On the evenings when Pete wasn’t there, his buddy Mel enjoyed a beer instead. You were never quite sure what beer was going to be available. Cary did the beer stocking as well as the wine, but Cary wasn’t a beer drinker. You could pretty much guarantee that there’d be Corona and some sort of IPA, but after that it was a matter of what was on sale at the supplier. Mel considered himself a bit of a microbrew connoisseur and had offered to advise Cary a few times, but Cary always gave him a harassed look and said, “Maybe some other time, I have a lot to cover today.”
There had been one time, a few years ago, when a few folks had gotten together and talked about starting a new cafe on the third side of the plaza where the old Foster building had sat vacant since anyone could remember. Maybe an organic juice bar where you could get wheatgrass smoothies (Alex’s didn’t do fresh smoothies--not enough demand) and a more extensive variety of herbal teas (Alex’s had one of those assortment boxes from Bigelow, and generally everyone could find something in it that they liked). But the town council had turned them down for a permit because they were worried that there weren’t enough customers for three separate businesses, and if the new place drew too much trade away from Alex’s then they might end up with two empty storefronts on the plaza instead of only one. And between Jo’s and Alex’s, they had all the town’s drinking needs covered, didn’t they? Pete grumbled a bit, because he’d been looking forward to a place that had good chai and didn’t serve alcohol, and after the decision came down he pointed out loudly to all who would listen that the town council were all coffee drinkers, which didn’t endear him to the folks who patronized Jo’s because they thought he had something against coffee. Eventually things settled down and the town council moved on to debating whether to fund a new swing-set in the park.
Everyone loves coming to the plaza on weekends to sit and chat with their friends and sip their beverage of choice. If you drink coffee, you go to Jo’s and they’ll take good care of you. And if you drink anything other than coffee, you go to Alex’s and they’re sure to have something you’re willing to drink. If you come on the right day. And the right person is on duty. And you aren’t too picky.
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