I’m sitting at the Nook this morning. It’s owned by a good friend and it’s a handy place to run away to when I need some time and space to focus on something. I’m a bit invested – I spent most of the July long weekend painting everything in the place. (True story: if I find the person who scraped the table I painted, I will hurt them.) I’ve shown up with a hammer and WD40 to fix the bathroom door.
There are all sorts of things I love about this place, not least of which is watching how damn good my friend is at running a cafe. I also love that they make a fantastic americano. And they know that if I come in after 1pm, the order will change to a decaf. I can wander in, decide I don’t like the grilled cheese special and they will invent the Cheryl special. Which always has brie. Usually other good stuff.
When Linds chose the location, she wanted to create a meeting place. It’s across from a Federal Government Office. Down the way from EPS headquarters. In the middle of the inner city. Underneath artist’s studios. On any given day there is an excellent mix of people. Suits and small children and uniforms and jeans and beards.
I was settling in. Pulling out my computer, waiting for my toast when I noticed the very young man in front of me. In a clearly very new suit (still had the tag on the arm) with the vents sewn closed. Normally I don’t say anything.
But in this place? A meeting place?
I walked to the counter, grabbed some scissors. Walked over. Smiled at him, told him to stand up. I explained that men’s suits are sewn closed, but you need to remove the stitch and take off the wool tag. I fixed his tie bar and told him that I wished him luck in his interview.
The Nook. Where you go for a coffee before your big interview and where a nagging woman fixes your suit while she waits for her toast.