The problem with grabbing a “coffee on Queen Anne” is this: (A)I don’t drink coffee, and (B) I’m no where near pretentious enough to so much as hold a cup of it in Queen Anne. It’s a nice gesture, and in most cases it’s the most casual and convenient “meeting” method. It’s a no expectations activity, it’s a non date. 9 out of 10 “firsts” here in Sea town most likely begin that way and successful (or un) it’s a cultural right of passage. It’s Seattle for hell sake, people drink coffee like air here and QA is the quintessential neighborhood for “getting noticed.” Who could ask for more? A lot of pressure could be put on this one solitary cup of ground beans. This could be the ice breaker for a casual encounter, a NSA rendezvous between strangers who need this grounding activity to validate their human existence before embarking on an experimental one It could be the kind of ground- toeing first date between crushes that turns any office going adult into that giggling thirteen year old of years past. Eyes will dart, punches will be lightly thrown, a tickle fight may ensue. The meeting might be the first handshake between executives, or future executives, or wannabe executives. It might be the gateway to Gateway. Just kidding, I mean Microsoft. There’s a chance it could be the initial interview for something interesting or random as a craigslist found “Creative Havoc” coterie that requires it’s members to “shock and awe” from the getgo. (Hypothetically speaking of course, I would never participate in such a troublesome group....ever.) I once witnessed a divorce be discussed and decided over two cups of grande something extra hot. Busy store, public accountability, coffee shop Switzerland. Or best of all, it could be the long awaited reunion between long lost friends who’ve become too carried away in their own busy lives to take the time to sit and really BE. And this seemingly casual corner café would be witness to a moment of brilliance where each party could look up from their nervously fiddling hands and say, “this is what you’ve meant to me...” I suppose this silly little paper cup represents something far greater than anything a coffee shop full of experienced baristas could ever imagine. Quite possibly, years of tears and smiling stories shared could all come down to a panegyric moment with a cup of brew. So what does a no-joe girl like me do in such situations? I put on my highest heels, my tightest skirt, my sweetest smile, and order a grande’ chai. And if I’m feeling sly, I’ll get there early enough to order ahead. So when he arrives, he’ll never know that as I sit there across the low faux wood table with my legs crossed towards him that not a solitary bean was harmed in the making of this cup of introduction. “Hello sir, pleasure to (re)make your acquaintance. And might I add, coffee on Queen Anne was such a lovely choice. “ I’ve been ready for years
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