Yesterday, I felt better than I had in weeks, and with my workload down to a trickle and my boss heading out on Lake Michigan, there was nothing other to do than to take a long walk. I made my way from the UWM area to northern Glendale with nothing in my pockets but two or three loose keys, driver’s license, blank check, cell phone. (Perfection, though sunscreen should have been in the mix somewhere.) I planned to stop at Stone Creek Coffee in Glendale. I would have been content with an experience that didn't kill the buzz, but it ended up being much more than that.
It happened that my favorite barista was working. Not only does he make a mean espresso drink, he exhibits remarkable attention to detail--handing me a pen to fill out my check before I had to ask, and even watering the plants in the cafe! Some baristas would be unperturbed by plants growing out of half-empty latte mugs left on a table for a month. I posted a week ago about owning one's workspace, and this barista is exemplary.
I made a point to spend some time sitting in the comfy chair, as if to spite Alterra a little bit by letting my bourgeois, non-fist-raising self luxuriate in seating comfort. What's up with a coffeehouse not having comfy chairs, anyway? They must figure it will help them skew young.