A comfortable coffee/tea shop is to the writer what the perfect gym is to the health nut or the home bar to the chronic drinker. It’s the home where they don’t make you clean-up after yourself.
Still without an apartment to call my own, finding a spot that I can gather my ramblings and organize my thoughts is crucial.
In most cafes in the area the fight for an outlet or table space is a match to the death. I’m still seething about the owners painstakingly covering the outlets at the Intelligensia on Abbot Kinney. They really just don’t want people hanging around.
I do understand a bit after I almost punched a lady for hogging two outlets leaving me high and dry. Before the rage rose to scene causing levels, I left without saying a word. The heat waves coming off my head must have been visible to everyone in my path.
Named after the location, 212 Pier in
The ample plugs and a free WIFI sign is a welcome view. The rows of bookshelves lining the walls do not detour visitors from grabbing a table bordering the literature. Although they are for sale, many look like they have and will be here for years to come.
Windows with peeling paint and broken hinges allow natural light to soak into the high ceilings. Precariously hung art covers the walls. Mismatched plush seats and tiled tables are scattered into a snug fit. Boys with disheveled hair and corduroy blazer discuss current topics with girls with tight jeans and flannels.
Dear Lord, The Shins just started to play. I might never leave.
I am almost transformed into my Kalamazoo workplace, The Strutt, where I was the counter girl listening to music of my choice, dolling judge on the decaf, non-fat, sugar-free lattes. There is a chunk in my heart missing without my trusted co-workers and favorite regulars.
There is even someone hammering near-by.
Right now at The Strutt I know my former boss is discussing the best way to remove the current stage and build one in the most challenging and impractical matter, tools scattered about in disregard.
In 212 Pier, I found a secluded locale on the deserted end of the loft. Not only do I have a bird’s eye view of the entrance and counter, but I found a leather office chair with a tall back. Everything in the space looks as though someone kicked it a few times.
My smoothie is fantastic made with soy, albeit not acai for they were out. The hip girl at the counter didn’t even tease me for saying it wrong. I couldn’t resist a delightful Christmas tree sugar cookie covered in sprinkles. Tis the season.
Now time for the real work. Let’s just hope the meter maid ignores the time limit for my ill-parked car. This might take a while.
