national coffee day

It took me most of my freshman year of college to finally gather enough courage to step into The Beanery on Monroe. Until then, that steamy, buzzing coffee shop had seemed more hip, hot, and happening a place to study than I could hope to infiltrate, glowing as I was with inexperience at such a location.

But, on that day, I nervously stepped in.

I dislike being an outsider in any realm where others feel at home. Theatre major capable of myriad affectations or no, I fear conspicuousness, being called out as the poser I am (even if just posing temporarily, until I get the swing of things). So, during my first Beanery experience, I stood there in line with my messenger bag weighed down with World Civ texts, biology chapters to read, and an argumentative paper to write not-so-casually freaking out about what to order, where to sit, and how not to look awkward while making both of those choices. Over-sized Gap sweater holding my stress-induced temperature against my body, I shifted in my Birkenstocks. I didn't even like coffee. What was I doing here?

"Can I help you?"
"I'd like Today's Special, please?"
"Nice. You like it strong, eh?"
"...Yes?"

I paid the cute hippie barista boy, fumbling over how much to put in the tip jar. Was a quarter insulting? Do I tip for just a cup of coffee?

Bumping every person and surface between the counter and the only open seat with my bag, and squeezing into a chair between all the other head-down studiers, the hum of G-Love and Special Sauce on the stereo, the screech of the espresso (not "expresso", I quickly learned) machine, the laughter of conversations from tables held in tableau against the arched windows- the place enveloped me.

And with that first sip of dark, black coffee I belonged.

Good coffee, the really good kind, has been a favorite pleasure of mine ever since. Not too many years later, I actually got to work at that very Beanery -the 5:30 am shift on the weekends during grad school. To this day, when I need to hit the books, write thank you notes, or grade essays, I seek the comfort of the corner coffee shop. And, all these years later, I'm married to a man who shares my affinity for fresh roasted, just ground beans. Truth be told, I love the coffee he makes best.

Whenever I'm able, I get our principal to authorize a walking field trip for my student and I. We go to a local coffee shop. To read. To write. To study. It's my secret gift to each one of them. No one should ever feel out of place in a coffee shop. Coffee welcomes us all, conferring hip, hot, happening-ness to all who partake.

Happy National Coffee Day, everyone.