A Coffee Review, of sorts

I think it's no secret that I habitually frequent coffee shops in order to do my work, and so I feel obligated to detail my observations on those found in the Cambridge area. Of course, as in every other modernized country in the world, there is a Starbucks. And as in every other Starbucks chain, the food and drinks are over-priced. Here more so because, I suspect, of the cost of imports, taxes, etc. This is why I've refrained from frequenting the one and only Starbucks in the area, a refreshing change from the scene one may find in, say, NY: a Starbucks every other block. So I'll leave the matter there.

I have instead resorted to Caffe Nero, another coffee chain, I am somewhat embarrassed to admit, that stems from Italy. It reminds me of the pre-2007 Starbucks on Thayer St, which makes it particularly endearing to me. As sad as it sounds, the baristas already know me...

Other places of note include CB2, CB1, and Clowns though they are a bit too far, and so I don't expect to go there often. Overall, these places have one thing in common, and that is the fact that the prices for food and drink when you stay in are more expensive than when you do take-out. Is it meant as a sort of penalty that encourages people to never actually stay in the store? I find this highly unlikely, given that the proprietors of coffee shops love the company, and so this leads me to conclude that a profit motive must somehow be involved. They must be charging extra for the inviting ambience the stores provide, a highly lucrative idea, and one I hope is never imported into the States.

The final place I'll mention is Indigo Coffee House, where I don't frequent to study, for once, but actually socialize. On my first visit, the barista immediately singled us (we were international students from Pembroke numbering 3) out as "The Americans," and continued to expound the various stereotypes he had accumulated about them: loud, obnoxious, unrefined, etc. We, of course, retaliated by pointing out how cold, reserved, and elitist the British are. The thing about the British, and this man was no different, is that they are extremely sarcastic and ironic, with the latter being much more subtle. Thus, the resolution of the conflict was an amicable one, resulting in the formation of the Anglo-American treaty of friendship within the store.

On my second visit, I went with my friend James, who was English both in nationality and course of study. We were discussing our Halloween costumes, and I mentioned I wanted to be Waldo, sparking a heated debate about "Where's Waldo?" as opposed to the UK's "Where's Wally?" At this point, the same barista piped up supporting the latter. Being the only American present this time around, I was rather overwhelmed as other customers joined the debate, and the discussion moved onto whether or not American vocabulary was inferior. Topics included: sweaters vs. jumpers; sneakers vs. trainers; pants vs. trousers; crew vs. rowing, etc. Anyways, the basis of the barista's argument for Wally as opposed to Waldo was that there was never anybody good with the name of Waldo, a direct reference to Ralph Waldo Emerson. This guy had recently graduated from University studying English, and apparently hated the works of Emerson and Ernest Hemingway the most. James and I immediately attempted to change his opinion to no effect, but the discussion, as always, was extremely enjoyable. In case you were wondering, my arguments were just as petty: the name of Wally conjured up in my mind the hideous image of the Red Sox's mascot (sorry, Red Sox fans). If his name had been spelled Wall-E, matters may have been different.

This place really encapsulates why I love coffee shops so much, and that is because they really provide a kaleidoscopic view of the different topics of interest and types of people one may find in contemporary society. I apparently fall into the category of taciturn loners who prefer to work in the margins of society, or something like that. Well, at least I'm not an overly-sensitive, loquacious highbrow! . . . says the Cambridge student. Oh, the irony.