Just like everyone, I have my guilty pleasures, such as cheesy music from 90’s, unreasonable amounts of sweets in the evening, junk food for lunch, or gingerbread late and grande cappuccino from the soul-sucking corporation of Starbucks any time of the day. The place on the Central station in Copenhagen seem not to be amongst the most popular places to get coffee. Unlike in Helsinki, or even in the airport in Copenhagen, there never was a line, in fact, hardly ever there were more than couple travelers, killing time before the departure. So no wonder why barista remembered my order and my name by the third day. It didn’t make me feel less guilty about liking the drink a bit too much, but certainly increased the level of joy of drinking it from my to-go cup with the smiley next to my name.
Whenever I have free time in Helsinki, or just want to work in a coffee shop like cool kids do, I go to the Starbucks, order grande cappuccino from the barista who, if I’m lucky, is going to spell my name correctly, take the place by the window. In winter you’d better pick a table in front of the bar, otherwise you will risk to freeze to death, or to catch some common cold, because doors get opened all the time and frosty air gets under your skin despite all the layers of woolen sweaters you are wearing. The noise of espresso machine, blender, cups, buzzing of many voices speaking different languages, being pushed from time to time, and drinking coffee out of a big white mug – that creates the special inspiring atmosphere in places like Starbucks.
Tuesday was the first day in weeks when the Sun has finally appeared in this part of the globe. I took a walk down the Löönrotinkatu, enjoyed the city, before my legs got so frozen I couldn’t feel them. The Starbucks was full with the fashion and habit victims, enjoying their drinks. Among them, sitting by my favorite table, was a man with the small, black notebook. Thin, probably tall from what I could tell from his posture, with goatee and mid-length, curly, dark hair. By the look at him, one could say the man was the embodiment of the stereotypes on poets or artists. Before I looked away, he made an unusual gesture: he put the pen in a bottle of quill, and started writing something down.
Woman with a laptop, man with a tablet, woman with a newspaper, man with a magazine, girl with a player, boy with a phone – we are so used to combinations like this, we hardly ever pay attention anymore. In fact, we are one of them, too. A man with a bottle of quill and a feather-pen breaks the pattern. Almost like a flashback from another era, someone who hardly fits in this neurotic, rushing, tumultuous scenery. Anxious about fitting in, wearing right colors, cool laptop and the newest iPhone, reading trendy life-style magazines, and staying unique – we don’t leave any space for our true wishes, we don’t listen what we want, but rather what we have to want. Maybe that man is another lonely soul seeking for more attention, he is not authentic, but a poser, but still he made me wanted about what I truly want of this day? When sun sets down, and city falls asleep, where it leaves me, with my haves, musts, shoulds, and true desires. Maybe another cup of coffee will help me to find the answer.
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