the banal sacredness of being together

radical love letter #52

Royal Grounds in Minneapolis, almost one year ago exactly

 

Dear ones, 

I first experienced the unique pleasure of “hanging out” at coffee shops in high school, when my best friend and her sister got jobs as baristas at Starbucks. We didn’t have any formulated critiques of corporations at that point, and besides, we were working class teenagers who needed jobs wherever we could find them in our weird small town. Sometimes I’d order things when I went to visit, but other times I’d just go to chat with them at the counter when things were slow, read the local alt-weekly in the cushy chair when things were busy, and maybe order a Frapuccino to share with them on their break. I got two boyfriends out of killing time at Sbux (one who would go on to have a profound impact on my politics and music taste). Since then, coffee shops have been a fundamental part of my life -- watching my friends play live music at the local ones in Chicago, drinking my weight in green tea while writing my entire dissertation at the staple cafés of Minneapolis, and finding what felt like family at the Starbucks across the street from my apartment in Boston. If it weren’t for Covid forcing me to, I would say, “I truly cannot imagine my life without them.” 

Coffee shops and other outlets like them are what Ray Oldenburg would describe as a third place -- not home, not work, but a tertiary space where civic life can flourish separate from family units or labor. Think here also of barber shops, the chess tables in a park, bistros and bars. Oldenburg isn’t an anti-capitalist per se, but he writes explicitly about his disdain for how US advertising encourages consumption for the individual (cars, massages, perhaps a Peloton bike?), rather than consumption for the collective (spending money on coffee at the coffee shop, or drinks the bar). He has an astute argument about work - it’s alienating and makes us suffer - but his solution is a “third place” to bring us more joy, rather than abolishing wage labor. So while his perspective falls short, his musings on what he calls “informal public life” are legit, and are what we’d see more if we did radically restructure the economy. 

The Starbucks in Medford, MA (right outside of Boston) was the absolute epitome of “informal public life.” I lived within walking distance of it, and because it was attached to a Whole Foods, it was hard to pass up a no-car day of class prep at the same place where I could pick up groceries. (Despite knowing all the problems with both Sbux and WF, I admittedly chose what was easiest during a time in my life when everything was exorbitantly complicated.) So on Tuesdays and Thursdays (or M/W/F, depending on the semester), I would trek over to the small café, order a venti green tea, open up my laptop and get to work. I would also observe -- it felt impossible not to. I would notice, everyday, the older townie with an unkempt white beard, always reading the newspaper and peeling clementines. I would note the hours after school let out that I’d have to turn up the music on my headphones to drown out the sweet, but loud banter of the fourteen year-olds who regularly gathered with whipped cream-topped drinks and gossip. I began to learn the names of my baristas - Hannah, Danny, Chuck, Dez, and others - a diverse crew of mostly early-20s sweethearts with big dreams and excellent memories (after just a couple months of being a patron, they had my green tea ready to go before I even asked). Almost every day, I shared a couple hours of overlap with the Gen X-er in thick black-framed glasses who also came in with a laptop; to make a very long story short, this guy, Mark, a filmmaker and music nerd, became one of my best friends. 

Eventually Mark and I knew every regular, and they knew us; we became so close to the baristas that we got them Christmas gifts, and they were the first ones Mark cast as extras in his movies. Before getting to grading or writing, we’d catch up with and/or about the crew at Sbux. It was jovial, meaningful, and the opposite of alienating. Of course, for the workers who were still on the job, this was all less idyllic, and we can’t think about informal public life without thinking of the staff who makes it happen. But the space of the coffee shop allowed them a unique opportunity to engage in what James C. Scott calls “infrapolitics” - that time-theft, and other non-organized, small scale acts of resistance that our barista friends could engage to find joy and culture outside of -but also in the midst of - their shift. This was true for patrons like me and Mark too, who were there technically “working” but not in a traditional office with coworkers from the same company. Workplaces offer culture and commonality, but all in the service of a money-making mission. At Sbux, even if we were working, we were also sharing space and intimacy with people who had nothing to do with our job. My grading would be interrupted with Mark handing me his headphones and insisting I listen to the new Frankie Cosmos; Danny’s shift would be idled at our table comparing notes on our reactions to the latest Spike Lee; the regular who ran a pet rescue out of her house would take breaks from her spreadsheet to share stories of the cute thing her dog did the night before. Unlike the company of Starbucks attempting to appropriate the term third place in its most recent corporate policy, our version of this was a bottom-up, organic process of worldmaking.

“Third places that render the best and fullest service are those to which one may go alone at almost any time of the day or evening with assurance that acquaintances will be there,” writes Oldenburg, “To have such a place available whenever the demons of loneliness or boredom strike or when the pressures and frustrations of the day call for relaxation amid good company is a powerful resource. Where they exist, such places attend to the bonds between people.” 

I’ve never had anything quite like the bond of the people who made community at the Medford Sbux, but I’ve gotten close. Each place I’ve lived, I’ve become friends (or friends-like) with baristas, and chatted with regulars. I’ve grown to love the unique smell of each shop: Royal Grounds in Minneapolis always smelled like grilled cheese and old books; Diesel in Somerville smelled either like toasted bagels or, if you were too close to the bathrooms, like stale piss (sorry Diesel, you know it’s true); the Phoenix in Cleveland Heights where I was fortunate enough to spend many days writing during visits before I lived here, smells like coffee and prayer plants, a real clean, warm air that hugs you close. I’ve learned to adapt to the temperatures - pretty much every coffee shop I’ve frequented is freezing, so I always had an extra cardigan layer stashed in my purse. I’ve learned the hours and the outlets. I’ve learned the tenderness of getting a hot water refill for my tea. 

We are missing this in the pandemic. I am missing those familiar faces, that ritual. Everyday I notice at least once a convenience of being at home (not spending inflated money on a snack), and everyday I notice the hollow space of where the connection of informal public life once lived. I miss those daily chit-chats, even just about the weather, even just saying, “yep, green tea again,” even just that part of the day when I ask the person at the table next to me to watch my computer while I go the bathroom, that weird exchange of bestowing trust upon a human for no reason other than they are positioned next to you. I love the moment when we sort of nod together and I mumble something and they kinda do too, as if to say, “of course, but we both know no one is gonna steal this and if they did I probably wouldn’t fight them, but yes of course I will protect your table with my occasional gaze up while you pee. Blessings.” I miss how third space gave me the precious specificity of an awkward exchange, those ones that turn your cheeks pink and make you feel human. 

Occasionally someone on Twitter or in an op-ed will pose the question, “If the pandemic ended this morning, what would you do today?” My answer is always the same: “Hug my mom then go write at a coffee shop.” Third places don’t exist unless we are there to create them. (Same goes for better labor conditions for our barista comrades.) I am holding out hope that 2021 is going to give us a lot of room for creation, outside of binaries, and a rebuilding of life that prioritizes connection over work. I think when it is safe, we will be so gloriously awake to the banal sacredness of being together in a place. I think, maybe if we’re lucky, we will never take it for granted again. 

Love & solidarity,

Raechel 

News

• I’m doing my final reading of 2020 (!) tomorrow (Thursday, December 17th) at 7pm EST. I’ll be reading with two other Belt family authors (the wildly talented Bob Campbell and Josė Olivarez, hosted by the inimitable Martha Bayne), and I’m really excited for an evening of heartful regional writing. Free to attend but we’ll have a digital tip jar if you want to help Belt Magazine reach our year-end fundraising goal. 

• The newsletter will be undergoing a change after the new year; weekly writing of this kind is not feasible for me until after May (when I will go from two-ish jobs to one-ish job). Until then I’ll be experimenting with form and frequency, and maybe some paid subscriber content. But there will always be some free content for you, at least a couple times a month. Thank you for being here and bearing with any changes; it truly means a lot. <3 

Read, Watch, Listen. 

A lovely profile of the indigenous members of the Gay Commie Skate Crew. A genuinely interesting article on what history smells like. A heady and powerful materialist engagement of Frank Wilderson’s theory of Afro-pessimism. This essay on High Femme Camp Antics fucked me up the way HFCA ought to. And this excellent research on how soft femme culture emerges on the internet. Speaking of femmes, the lovely Rev. Jes Kast wrote a great how-to on setting boundaries with family during the holidays. Nick Kristof and the Holy War on PornHub. George Yancy interviews Che Gosset and the result is a mentally- and spiritually-stimulating homage to Black feminist thought. Live updates from the farmer’s strike in India. Joshua Rothman’s recent New Yorker essay on lives unlived reminds me of my favorite essay on ghost ships, and both are beautiful; from Rothman: “We have unlived lives for all sorts of reasons: because we make choices; because society constrains us; because events force our hand; most of all, because we are singular individuals, becoming more so with time.”

Mutual Aid. 

It continues to be harder and harder for sex workers to make a living (see above article on PornHub). Catori is a sex worker struggling with her health, legal fees, and finances. Her GoFundMe is a great place to share some dollars this week.

Joy & Attention. 

A slightly treacherous but enjoyable winter walk with L to get to-go date night snacks. More holiday decorations in the apartment. More holiday music. Dolly Parton’s Christmas on the Square. A queerwolrd movie night where I watched Happiest Season for a second time, which my friends dubbed “a real holiday traum-com” in the chat. The entirely warmest steampunk Christmas story that is Jingle Jangle. A beautiful Zoom brunch with MS. <3 No social apps on my phone (Twitter is almost never on my phone, although I am on the laptop version a decent amount, but Instagram is always in my proverbial pocket; I deleted it for 5 days and it was really nice to have a break). So much reading, even during a very busy week, making time for good words. Connecting again with JY. Phone chat with MP. Altar work & Baba Yaga. Cookie baking. B and her friendship and her wisdom. Outdoor botanical gardens holiday evening with my mom and uncle. This revue of Nancy Meyers films that really delighted me. The wonderful news that the Cleveland baseball team will take another step to rid themselves of gross, racist, colonial characteristics. Nicole Antoinette’s newsletter. My sweetest kitties. A perfect almond milk latte. The crisp calm cold of the Lake Erie air. <3 

&from the collective.