on sundays

and coffee shops

On Sundays, I go to Vero Espresso House. And yes, it quite literally was a house at one point; its wooden floors, yellow exterior, big windows, and stairs that lead to an unknown upstairs reveal that right away. I stand in a line that usually winds its way out the door and towards the sidewalk. Tables fill its outside deck, and yellow umbrellas shade customers from the sun (or rain). Once inside, I order. Being brunch hour (my favorite meal on the weekends), this usually means a food item that includes eggs accompanied by a latte of some sort–iced or hot or chai.

I then choose my spot. It's typically too chilly to sit outside, but as the weather warms up, I hope to venture out. Often I take my place in the back hallway where barstools and a ledge lines the wall. This is where most students study, as the wall prevents distraction. However, if I feel particularly extraverted, I take my spot at the community table—long and wooden surrounded by eight chairs waiting for brave souls (or larger parties) to take their place.

Sitting at the community table is always fun because I get to catch bits and pieces of other conversations, not that I'm a stalker or want to eaves-drop. But that's the beauty of the community table isn't it? People are going to hear. It's as if by choosing to sit there, you tell the people around you, "Hey stranger, I trust your non-judgement. Thank you!" I think that's why I feel drawn to it. Even better, those overheard conversations sometimes turn into active conversations as you join in or are asked a question.

Today, I was graced by two parties throughout my typical study session. The first arrived amidst my weekly planner date— me, my schdule, and my favorite black pen. The young couple ordered iced lattes and talked of their friends at different schools around the country. They made me think of mine, especially when one of them asked, "Would you to college in the South? I think if I were from there I would." I smiled. I am from there, I thought to myself. I did not go to a southern college, I thought to myself.

The second appeared as I read about globalization and its impact on education around the world. She was a middle-aged woman—panini in hand—reading a rather fat book. I discreetly attempted to catch a glimpse of her book, however, I could not see the cover or spine. Nevertheless, she made me pine for a novel in my own hand. When I am done with work, I thought to myself.

In all honesty, I do not know exactly why I am telling you about this. Why does anyone care? Probably no one does. Why do I care? Maybe it's an attempt to find beauty in ordinary moments. Why do I write? Maybe it satisfies my need to understand people and stories and why humanity functions like it does.

On Sundays, I go to Vero... to do homework? Yes. But I could do homework anywhere. On Sundays I go to Vero... to learn about ordinary people doing ordinary things.

Things I learned today:

People still do read the Newspaper while sipping on a mug of coffee.

It's a joyous thing to hear baristas sporadically burst into song. (It was Selena Gomez that did it.)

You don't have to post everything on your Instagram story according to Mr. blue cap guy. (Guilty).

It's officially iced latte season. That had to be the most popular order.

Business is better when the sun is out. (They ran out of bread by the end of the day).

The longer you stay, the more music genres you get to hear.

Nothing beats simple buttered toast and jam. (Even if it's gluten free).

And finally: Being around people communicating fires the inner desire to reach out to people. The best homework breaks are spent texting or calling loved ones you haven't spoken to in a while.

That's all for now. As for Vero, I'll see you next week.

Much love,

Chloé