coffee turf wars

I love Ground. I admire their courage. At a time when new Espresso Bars were opening every day and Starbucks, Costa and Esquires were planning their assault on Northern Ireland the wise people in Ground decided that it was a good time to start a business selling coffee. I feel like I own them - sort of. I was there seven odd years ago when they first opened in Coleraine. I interviewed for barista positions but was told I was overqualified – how little they know – barista work is about all a theatre studies and English literature degree do qualify you for. Let’s face it, even teaching English, I haven’t had much need for my knowledge of Canadian Literature – although being able to quote Margaret Atwood and Leonard Coen in any given situation has its uses.

I have spent more hours writing short stories upstairs in Coleraine Ground than I ever spent revising for the multitude of exams I have taken since they opened. At the time I found it amusing that they had a space in their comment cards asking which branch you frequented – like there would ever be more than one Ground.

Today I am sitting in the Ballymoney Ground. A few years after Coleraine opened they added one in Ballymena (on a street where there is practically more coffee shops than paving stones,) then they moved into the old KFC building in Portrush, and then a couple of months ago this one – the best of the bunch – in Ballymoney.

I ran out of inspiration for the short story I had started a while ago and the owner came over for a chat. I asked her where the next opening would be. “Belfast” she told me, “We’re opening in Waterstones.” A coffee shop INSIDE a book shop – who could have imagined it! Original it may not be but it is surely an excellent move. Breaking the big city must be an exciting prospect and who knows where it goes from there. I suggested the states, maybe Seattle. She gave me that kind smile people give me when they think I’m trying to be funny.

And so the Ground machine continues to plough on oblivious of the Starbucks, Café Neros and Costa Coffees springing up like wild flowers in it’s way. And more power to them. Not just because they are a local group taking on the big Globals but because I reckon the money I’ve spent in there must have paid for at least one of their stores. I’m claiming this one.

reasons why i'm single (part 1 of a 78 part series)

I’m a people watcher. I watch people and come up with back stories for them. I find it amusing. Amusing, but not always accurate.

You see, while I like to believe that I am good at reading people, I have one fatal flaw – I can never decipher signals that are aimed at me.

It’s a long term issue. I remember years ago spending most of the summer with a group of friends. There was one girl in particular who was an outrageous flirt. She flirted with the guys in the group, she flirted with the guys we met up with, she flirted with the guys we passed on the street; it seemed to me that she would flirt with anything with a pulse. What irked me incredibly at the time was the fact that she never flirted with me. Not once.

I gave her every opportunity. We drank reservoirs of coffee together, walked miles of sandy coastline, took long drives through beautiful scenery, we had three hour conversations - mainly about guys and what she was looking for in one – I had become the dreaded “friend.”

Well, after a couple of months I headed off to university in Scotland and our three hour conversations became thirteen page letters (obviously this all took place before email jumped off nerds bridge into mainstream culture) I remember, having read a letter in which she described herself as an outrageous flirt, plucking up the courage to ask why she never flirted with me. The reply, a week later, was incredulous. She, I read, had spent eight solid weeks flirting with me. She had overcome a dislike of coffee, battled wind exposure on the Atlantic coastline and overdosed on travel sickness pills for three hour drives on tiny winding roads. She had described as many of my qualities as possible as the qualities she desired in a man. She had taken every opportunity she could to put her hand on my arm, brush the back of my head, stare deeply into my eyes…

I felt a bit silly.

A decade later and I still haven’t learned. One of the baristas at Starbucks left recently. I know some people who know me just sighed and raised their eyes heavenward at the mention of a barista. I am always making emotional attachments to baristas and waitresses. I think it goes back to my Tim Horton days. Anyway, on her last day working before taking a few weeks holiday before returning stateside we were chatting. She was telling me about all the things she was going to miss about Northern Ireland, she said that she was going to miss the food – how she had put on a pile of weight.

Now you know and I know that was a signal for me to tell her that she didn’t need to lose weight – actually she really didn’t. You and I both know that she was waiting for me to compliment her so we could begin trading compliments. We both know that in all the months I had been chatting with her, the fact that she had been laughing at all my attempts to be witty bore no relation to how funny she actually found me. If I asked I bet you’d be able to tell me what the prolonged eye contact and coy smiles actually meant. And you and I both know that I was completely clueless of all of this at the time.

So when she said that she had put on weight what did Mr Charming reply?
“Ah, don’t worry about it. You’ll soon lose all that.”

I know you’re sighing and shaking your head in a resigned manner – I know I am.

Always Fresh

People often ask me what I miss most about Canada. It’s one of those questions you ask in the midst of inane small talk – and one that is very difficult to answer. The obvious response would be the people – some of the friendliest, most caring, genuinely interesting people I know live above the 49th parallel. Another possible response might be the weather – it isn’t always raining and I, for one, love snow. I could say I miss the physical size of the place – the fact that it goes on and on beyond what the limits of my imagination would allow me to perceive. One thing I never thought I’d miss was the coffee. I used to hate that weak, cream laden tasteless muck they served in vast quantities.

I’ve just spent a few days travelling round the West Coast of Ireland with a good friend. We saw many sights, walked many walks, ate many meals and talked many talks. There are numerous tales to tell from such a short time but that can wait for another time. What occupies my mind right now is the fact that, as we were setting off to drive home, we passed a filling station – and in this filling station was something I haven’t seen since I left Canada some six years ago – A Tim Hortons Coffee Counter.

I used to work night shift in a Tim Hortons Coffee Shop on the corner of Northfield and Weber in a little place called Waterloo, Ontario. Not the most prestigious job I’ve ever had, nor the best paid – yet it was one of my favourites. The characters you meet in an all-night coffee shop are incredible. It is a unique experience. I loved it so much I still have the hideous uniform I had to wear. I’m not sure why I kept it – I’ll never fit in it again; I’m not sure I ever fitted in it back then. I also have an unopened tin of the coffee grains and a mug I never use. I am a hoarder – I admit that. Despite this I have an annual clearout where nothing is safe from my wrath – nothing except that coffee tin, that mug and that uniform.

It’s odd what forms your affectionate memories. I wish for me it were more earth shattering events. There are some major ones in there as well – I’m not that dull. But right up there are my memories of dipping donuts in chocolate, baking the bagels and serving large double doubles to the night shift crew from the nearby factories at 3am. The thing that I remember most, though, is the smell. The unique smell of Tim Hortons coffee that drove me sick at the time, but now I remember it as fondly as I remember the big yellow duck on wheels I used to run around with when I was a toddler. So when I walked into that filling station and my nose filled with that familiar odour… well, it’s a moment I’m not sure I can describe.

it snowed today - in my car

It's odd how events can build up detail by detail to a somewhat unexpected eventual effect.

Take today for instance. I bought a Starbucks latte - not unexpected so far. It was too hot to drink immediately so I set it on my dashboard and set off. I drove below a flock of starlings that made a mess of my car if you know what I mean. I drove to a drive thru car wash to clean it. For some reason the car wash wasn't working so I decided to drive round to the front to inform a member of staff. The windows had steamed up while I was stopped and I couldn't open them because they were covered in... well... So with my vision impaired I drove - bumped into a kerb - my coffee went all over the dashboard, the seats, the floor. I cried.

Luckily i had wipe things which I was able to use to clean up the dashboard and upholstery things for the seats and floor. Unluckily some of the coffee had gone down the vents and I couldn't get at it - so I left it to dry.

My car smells of stale coffee (It wouldn't even have been so bad if it was Costa Coffee - I like the smell of Costa Coffee)

The thing is, once I returned to the car after a while and the coffee in the vents had dried, I turned on the engine. Air came up through the vents and with it little flakes of dry soya milk floated up and around the inside of the car. It was a beautiful moment. Unexpected, slightly icky, but very very beautiful.

who's strange now

Here I am, as usual, sitting in Starbuck with my post-school coffee (differs from my pre-school, breaktime, post-drama lesson, LSU meeting, and lunchtime coffees in that I pay someone else to make it for me) The place is humming and the staff are looking more than a little overworked. School kids are leaving their trademark mess behind them and tables are overflowing with empty mugs and half eaten muffins.

In the midst of all this madness there is a woman walking round between tables clearing them and leaving everything in a tidy pile by the coffee bar. While the rest of us seem happy enough to shove the previous occupiers of our table’s leftovers to the side she is squeezing round us balancing eight venti mugs, three plastic cups and a sandwich cartoon on her fingers. She doesn’t work here, she isn’t even a customer – she just came in to lend a hand clearing tables.

As she lifts the cups from my table she looked up and asked what I was writing about – I told her – She smiled “They’re always busy at this time of the day.” She cleared the table next to me… and left. Her job here was done.

How awesome is that? A true servile attitude. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover she went straight over to Ground or some other coffee shop to start all over again. And always with a smile. Isn’t it sad, however, that my first instinct as I watched her was that she isn’t all there? Isn’t it sad that we have gone so far into a self-interested existence that we would rather wallow in some one else’s latte smeared mess while looking disapprovingly at overworked staff than do someone else’s job. What, are we scared of the barista union?

irony

Definition of irony: Getting so frustrated at lack of wifi spots in the town that you go and pay for access at Starbucks only to find, on your return to your car, that you are parked in a free wifi spot.

Starbucks - I'll be getting my soya lattes to go from now on.