Short Stories and Writings that Resulted from Boredom

The Coffee Shop

Nonfiction

I sit in this local coffee shop, wearing a purple shirt, a black hoodie, blue jeans, and Converse. As I sit at this small, round, wooden table, I sip on a large iced mocha and describe this crowded joint. Resting atop the table is the journal I write this in, a book, my phone, and my drink.

Sitting on my left is a middle aged man with thinning hair. He wears a t-shirt and jeans, and doesn't look like he is on his way to work anytime soon. A bible is open on this table, but instead of studying his scripture, the man texts on his phone. I glance at him periodically to see if he ever puts his phone back on the table and returns to reading his bible. He never does.

There is a sitting area of black, leather couches at my ten o'clock view. A woman named Nicole, whom I knew from school, conveys with a woman who looks like a teacher. They must have run into each other. They ask about each other's well being, a kind of conversation people have when they haven't seen each other in a long time.

At the table directly in front of me sits a girl. Her hair is dyed red, and she wears a jacket and jeans. I saw her a few weeks ago at the grocery store. I know she's in choir because I can barely see the choir shirt that her jacket mostly covers.

There are two tables to the girl's nine o'clock. The first table seats three girls who look to be sixteen or seventeen. The noise from the bar is too loud for me to hear what they are talking about. They wear Nike shorts and t-shirts, yet they wear a full face of makeup and made the effort to straighten their hair this morning. My guess based on these observations is that they're gossiping about other people in whatever friend group they're in.

The table behind those girls seats a group of boys. It's difficult to hear them. They look like the kind of boys who date lots of girls, drink and party on the weekends, and don't necessarily care about school.

There are two tables at my seven o'clock. The table closer to me seats two men. They're more than likely colleagues who coincidentally ran into each other here. They both look to be in their fifties. God knows what they're talking about.

Directly behind me is the bar, where two young men prepare everyone's coffee drinks and food. Some people sit along the bar while waiting for their orders. One of the men behind the bar has been working here since they opened almost two years ago. The other one is new. I haven't seen him before. They work non-stop, though the place will slow down when all the students who are here have to get back to the high school.

There is another room in the back, where every Tuesday this shop hosts karaoke. I've never been. Even when there isn't karaoke, that back area is still jam packed with people. Every table is filled. Most of the people who sit back there are students at the high school across the street. Some of them study, and some of them are there to enjoy their time with their friends before school.

Every morning before school this coffee shop packs with people. From students, to teachers, to normal working class people who just want some espresso before work. I love this coffee shop. It's just a few hundred yards from the high school. Most of this coffee shop's revenue comes from high school students. That's not a bad thing. The high school has been here for over a hundred years. This shop is here for our comfort.