April 5, 2009
Hey guys,
Now that the café next door is gone, I’ve been on a quest to find a new one where I can comfortably establish myself as a regular. As a video store operator I feel a close affinity to café culture. Both institutions anchor the daytime scene, providing locals with a relaxed venue for discussing arts and culture. At least that’s my idealized version of what a café should be. The one next door was arty without being pretentious, the staff had good taste in music and, most importantly, the coffee was delicious; it would be a tough act to follow.
The first café I tried was the Stagrocks around the corner, but the staff were too caffeinated to hold a proper conversation. Their greetings were cloyingly cheerful and sometimes they were just bossy.
Next, I went to minimalist Café Moon, where an abundance of hanging plants and reclaimed bicycle parts decorate the exposed-brick walls. Even though they made a rich cappuccino, I crossed it off my list right away – there was no one to talk to. My fellow patrons were all encapsulated in their laptop and headphone techno-bubbles.
For a time I gave up on the search altogether, deciding to set up a coffee rig of my own at the store. I got a second-hand electric kettle, French press and hand-grinder. The fresh-ground stuff I made was tasty and I enjoyed drinking it with my favourite customers, but I missed the feeling of being on the other side of the counter.
It was that longing that eventually compelled me to try the Half & Half Diner, a little further afield, near the 5th street subway station. It’s a dimly lit wood-panel joint straight out of a Tom Waits song; the type of place where you ask for a glass of water, and they hand you a simple glass of water – no ice, straw or slice of lemon. I paid it a visit one rainy afternoon last week on my way in for the evening shift. The sizzle of eggs over-easy and an overweight owner greeted me as I entered. I asked for a cup o’ Joe, black, no sugar.
“How ‘bout dat wedder, uh?” he said, “boy oh boy!”
“You don’t like it, wait ‘til tomorrow,” I answered, matching his cliché with one of my own. It might not have been the most sophisticated place, but I was already feeling at home. I sat down on a stool, flipped through a copy of the Mirror and sipped my coffee in comfort.
…
When I arrived at the store Steve was watching Pirates of the Caribbean. The sequel is coming out on DVD next week and he was trying to hype the franchise. It’s not a movie I normally recommend, but it gets the kids excited – like the two brothers who were shrieking up and down the aisles, duelling sailors aboard the imaginary HMS Bonavista.
I was about to tell them to calm down and be careful, but thought better of it. I envied the way their imaginations roamed wild and let dreams of buried treasure wash over me, carrying me back to my own days unearthing ancient relics. It was an exciting time in my life: the promise of new discoveries breathing life into every rock I overturned, each fleck of soil I brushed away. Not even Walt Disney himself could truly convey such thrilling exploits.
Steve turned off the movie at the part where Johnny Depp was stumbling around drunk, saying he couldn’t take it anymore. The boys, in the midst of an argument about which one of them would walk the plank, groaned in sour disappointment. To cheer them up, their mother bought them a pair of licorice sticks, which they used to continue their duel on the way out.
Ah, the power of youth, that free flowing spring of carefree resilience! But how to bring out the best in them? Perhaps by opening a small camp the precocious roustabouts could attend on weekends or after school. The young novices would watch movies, play kickball in the alley, do chores, watch more movies and snack on low-sodium popcorn. I would work towards creating a movie curriculum that would shine a light through the gaps left between their compulsory courses. I watched the Dead Poets’ Society to learn more about the noble pursuit of inspiring young minds.
That day my shift was uneventful and I had time to watch another full movie: Critical Condition, which stars Richard Pryor. He’s one of the best stand-up comedians I’ve ever heard, and I was curious to watch this mid-eighties flick. But Pryor, playing a con man who poses as a doctor at a hospital, looked fatigued and gave an uninspired performance. It has a touching premise and some funny moments, but I would only recommend it to Pryor completists.
By the time I closed up the shop, the rain had cleared and the full moon had ventured forth, reflecting the light of the sun, like a giant reel-to-reel projector. I walked home thinking about how my new protegées would soon absorb the light of film and dispel the darkness of the world.
Comments:
cafemoonunit: Yeah, we have the best single origin in-house roasted direct-trade Arabica beans in the city, blended and served in a hip, modern atmosphere. I’m glad you enjoyed your cappuccino. We are currently hiring experienced barristas to work the morning shift. Check out our website. cafemoon.biz for deals.
J-babylon: your coffee’s good vic, REAL GOOD. I like the way you add a scoop of vanilla instant coffee instead of sugar. gives that awesome kick you need before hitting the town
videostorevic: Thanks J, I’m working on patenting that creation. Tell your friends.
averagejoe66: Hey Vic, A day camp is a great idea. All my kids wanna do is watch movies and play kickball. Can I drop them off with you next weekend? I got some stuff to do. It’ll be an easy 30 bucks, and I promise you won’t hear a peep. Plus I’ll bring back some leftovers
videostorevic: Ok, I’ll think about it. It would be fun to host eager young minds. I’m actually a pretty good cook. Do they like kraft dinner?
averagejoe66: great, I’ll take that as a yes. I just called Starla and she’s free. See you then
videostorevic: Ok they can come on Saturday, but you gotta pick them up before Steve gets in at 6
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The Man Who Came to Rent 