Audience of One

What to do when business is slow

The snow swirled around the heads of the language students tramping through the cold streets of Oxford, observed from the warm insides of Caffè Nero by a young man of around the age of twenty-five. He sprinkled sugar into his tall, frothy latte, watching as the white grains mimicked the flakes outside the window. His forehead pursed in pensive thought, the young man contemplated Life.

It is a generally acknowledged truth that coffee shops are the best place in the world to contemplate Life. The caffeine-soaked atmosphere; the smartly-dressed businesspeople, arty intelligentsia and aspiring yuppies found in every similar establishment; the complex code required even to order the simplest drink: all these things combine to create an environment recognisable everywhere – from the streets of Paris to the malls of America, the coffee shop is a universal phenomenon, and one held in high esteem by those of a philosophical bent.

The name of the young man in question was Jamie, a name that singled him out as a member of that dying breed – the middle class. Nineteenth century philosophers had a particular antipathy for such people, the bourgeois. Twentieth century philosophers mostly were middle class. Life went through cycles; like the world’s changing weather, so societies shifted. Jamie’s thoughts touched this and other subjects as the light grew dimmer and the coffee grew colder.

Suddenly, as if he had made a decision, he drained his mug and left the shop for the cold streets outside. The snow had stopped but people were hurrying past with their coats around their necks, expecting another flurry. Jamie buttoned up his, and turned the corner into the Covered Market.

In fact, Jamie hadn’t made a decision. His general demeanour just happened to appear decisive to the untrained eye. Coffee exacerbated the effect. His caffeine-wired mind dancing from subject to subject as his eyes jumped from shop to shop – resting for just a moment on Ben’s Cookies before leaping away to a less indulgent target.

The sounds of a fiddle player busking on the other side of the market mingled with the cries of the fishmongers, and Jamie, shivering slightly from the cold, paused in the middle of the market. His thoughts returned to the here and now from their wanderings, and he realised that he had no idea what he was doing there.

“Not again…”

Matthew @ 11:11, March 3, 2006 to Miscellaneous | Comments (7)