-Christ's own coffeepot-
It may be in between semesters at most colleges, but I had the urge to do some reconnaissance on a new job site.
It's another college, another academic library. Slightly better than the one I'm currently with, which isn't saying much. Climb the ladder, and all that.
Otherwise, this library is only set apart from the others I've seen by its commingled stacks and aquariums. One could research red-eyed Amazon tree frogs, and then move four feet to the left to study a live one.
I didn't marvel at this for long. An elderly woman stumped out of an antechamber, turned, and warbled back into technical service land that a student was here. Not really, but I decided not to reveal my true purpose unless she asked.
Are you a student? She asked.
I admitted my real reason for coming, which sounded less rational than it had in my head.
The woman nodded with such a lack of concern that I feared she would nod off. She was closing soon, she told me, but was willing to let me take a peek. The only other noteworthy part of this conversation was introductions. "I'm Benedict." I said. "Mrs. Roth" she replied with distaste.
Of course! The greatest generation doesn't cotton to exchanging Christian names with young strangers. I had to get out of there.
On the way back home, I pulled the car over when I saw a sign advertising two of my favorite things - coffee and books. But when I walk inside, my eyes adjust to the gloom to find a well-furnished, but empty establishment. It's dark, and cold, and the decor is pure Starbucks. Plush couches, Ansel Adams prints, and too-small-to-spread-a-newspaper two-foot circular tables.
Only $0.75 for a 12 oz cup of coffee? Magnificent!
The barista who comes out of the lattechamber is prim, in her fifties. She blinks at me as I make a move toward the connected bookstore. "Bibles are marked down." she says. Clearly, this is not Starbucks, nor Barnes and Noble.
The music.. I can't decipher the lyrics, but something about the sound pulls at me, begs to be classified.
Oh.. Christian rock. Now I get it.
Turns out the Church is in the innoculous looking storefront next door. The barista is a volunteer, and this shop is a non-profit enterprise. Hence the $0.75 cup of coffee.
My original plan was to find a quiet booth and jot down my impressions of the library I'd just cased. But I wasn't comfortable here, so I chatted her up about the area that might become my new town. She didn't talk faith or redemption, so everything was fine.
As I left I stuck out my hand and introduced myself. Gave her my first name.
She responded with her first and last.
Now, that's faith.
It's another college, another academic library. Slightly better than the one I'm currently with, which isn't saying much. Climb the ladder, and all that.
Otherwise, this library is only set apart from the others I've seen by its commingled stacks and aquariums. One could research red-eyed Amazon tree frogs, and then move four feet to the left to study a live one.
I didn't marvel at this for long. An elderly woman stumped out of an antechamber, turned, and warbled back into technical service land that a student was here. Not really, but I decided not to reveal my true purpose unless she asked.
Are you a student? She asked.
I admitted my real reason for coming, which sounded less rational than it had in my head.
The woman nodded with such a lack of concern that I feared she would nod off. She was closing soon, she told me, but was willing to let me take a peek. The only other noteworthy part of this conversation was introductions. "I'm Benedict." I said. "Mrs. Roth" she replied with distaste.
Of course! The greatest generation doesn't cotton to exchanging Christian names with young strangers. I had to get out of there.
On the way back home, I pulled the car over when I saw a sign advertising two of my favorite things - coffee and books. But when I walk inside, my eyes adjust to the gloom to find a well-furnished, but empty establishment. It's dark, and cold, and the decor is pure Starbucks. Plush couches, Ansel Adams prints, and too-small-to-spread-a-newspaper two-foot circular tables.
Only $0.75 for a 12 oz cup of coffee? Magnificent!
The barista who comes out of the lattechamber is prim, in her fifties. She blinks at me as I make a move toward the connected bookstore. "Bibles are marked down." she says. Clearly, this is not Starbucks, nor Barnes and Noble.
The music.. I can't decipher the lyrics, but something about the sound pulls at me, begs to be classified.
Oh.. Christian rock. Now I get it.
Turns out the Church is in the innoculous looking storefront next door. The barista is a volunteer, and this shop is a non-profit enterprise. Hence the $0.75 cup of coffee.
My original plan was to find a quiet booth and jot down my impressions of the library I'd just cased. But I wasn't comfortable here, so I chatted her up about the area that might become my new town. She didn't talk faith or redemption, so everything was fine.
As I left I stuck out my hand and introduced myself. Gave her my first name.
She responded with her first and last.
Now, that's faith.
posted by Benedict | 1:04 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home