Wednesday, July 02, 2014
But I love coffee. I love the aroma of coffee, of the beans, and the drama of running out of caramel syrup. Really, it is like aromatherapy for me. A sense memory.
a collection of stories in which most of the characters work(ed) in coffee shops while mistakenly thinking that they needed to move on.
But after grad school and publication, I, like my characters, mistakenly thought that I was destined to work a job that wasn't in service to other coffee drinkers. What a waste! It was such an unexpected joy to be back in the coffee world that I was reminded, remorsefully, of an acquaintance's Facebook post from a few years ago, when she announced that she had returned to the industry she loved and with a degree of horror I realized that the industry in question was self-tanning. Now I think: good for her! How foolish of me to not respect that.
Every morning I get up before the sunrise, get the dogs out and back in again, head downtown and get the best possible position for people watching: behind the register of the Starbucks at Canal Place. The parade includes Homeland Security, the Saks salesforce (and H&M and the movie theaters upstairs, Anthropologie, etc), lawyers from several firms, tourists from the attached hotel, and so on. By 1pm I'm done for the day and can head over to one of the French Quarter restaurants for a $9 lunch special or head straight home to the dogs. And to writing. I hope.
And to studying for my real estate exam.