Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 267


Coffee: Americano, Caribou Coffee

Every semester in undergrad I had to write thank you letters to the donors who were paying part of my financial aid. I don’t remember their names anymore.

In 2010, which seems like a much longer time ago than nine years, I spent a summer studying in Greece. The donors paid for that too, in part, everything but the plane ticket. We traveled from Crete to the Cyclades and up the mainland, then back to Athens where we launched off on an island-hopping yacht cruise. Each night we ate fresh fish, bread, olive oil until we were full.

There was one girl who was also on aid. She had anxiety, she said, and sometimes forget to sign up for classes. One night she asked me to go out drinking, and I wasn’t drinking back then, so I stayed in the yacht as it rocked docked, playing a handheld videogame. The waves were atrocious. The sea was endless. I had anxiety.

These days, I’m making money for myself and making money for others. It’s nothing to feel bad about, but sometimes I think I feel too good about it. I wonder where that girl went, how she’s living, maybe she’s still stuck in Greece. All of us have a strained relationship with money. We suck it up like the worst kind of co-dependent lover. We make it in the shape our ourselves, a perfect picture, but one that always captures our worst side.

Some shapeless people inherited the green girth of wage-labor’s produce, and either out of charity or a tax write-off, gifted that girth to me. I’d never have seen Greece without benevolent Capitalist donors.

Currently Reading: Another Country, James Baldwin

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Money can’t buy me happiness
But I’m happiest when I can buy what I want, anytime that I want
Get high when I want

Jelleestone, Money (Part 1)

Coffee Log, Year 2, Day 224


Coffee:  Maxwell House Master Blend, Office Coffee

It was the Old Chem building that had the best windows. The classrooms looked right at the quad. Duke University. You could see the library and all the people walking in and out of it.

When I think about Autumn, sometimes I’m in the Old Chem building. I had a couple classes there. The one I remember the most was Philosophy 102. The professor was young, he had strange shoulders – they were like bird wings, but half formed, so his shirts hung on for fear of flying off. And we learned some interesting things, I guess, but mostly I was watching the bird shoulders, and the quad, the changing leaves, I liked it when it rained. I have a thing for umbrellas. I like how people under them are always walking fast.

It rained today, we needed it. The Triangle’s been in a drought. Our apartment creek is barren. The trees had gone brown, but not in an attractive way. Dead rust, parched throat, but all that’s better because it rained. A drizzle. The clouds came over like a circus. I watched them – 30mph, balloon animals. Puddles formed in backed-up gutters. A couple kids got mud on their shoes.

October – this is how you’re supposed to be; quiet, dreary, watched through a window.

Currently Reading: Queen, Suzanne Crain Miller

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I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.

L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Green Gables

Coffee Log, Day 239


Coffee: Colombian, Starbucks Brand (grocery store bought, a gift)

Whenever I remember taking nighttime walks around Duke’s campus it’s always cold, even if I took the walk in August. Here are a few examples:

  1. A breezy Spring Semester romp through the Engineering campus. I’m bored, lonely, talking on the phone. It’s a weekend, maybe, because there aren’t any students. I see cars come and go from the Divinity school. This part of campus is steep; clean; new. The cafes are closed and I’m disappointed because I’d like to visit. Everything is new to me. I’m a Philosophy major, nobody needs me over here.
  2. The week before my Sophomore or Junior year, I’m passing back and forth over a ditch cut between two dorm buildings. I’m waiting on a woman I’ll often wait for, even many years later and well after she’s no longer waiting for me. We haven’t seen each other since last year and there’s a whole summer’s worth of conversation. We circle Old Chem, pass Perkins library, and spend time admiring the statuary on the Chapel. It’s hot and balmy, but the memory’s like freezer frost. I like to transport myself to that time before some of my most important questions had answers.
  3. This time it’s actually winter. We’ve had a snow. I’m walking late in good company. Couples throwing snowballs, kids taking pictures on second-gen iphones. I’m talking to a friend who’s going to school in Charlotte. We’re both intoxicated on a mutual distaste for parties and alcohol. Underneath me, snow melts like modern glaciers. My hot body, raging at all the wrong parts of the world, but breathing that cold air brilliantly.

I took a walk tonight and before I did I put on a sweater. The first sweater since March. The apartments had gotten dark and I made my usual circuit. Bewitched by the lights of the clubhouse, I took a detour. Our community espresso machine can make a hot chocolate; I hadn’t had one, now I have. It seemed right to baptize the night in unnecessary sweetness. The first Fall evening only happens once a year.

Currently Reading: Autumn, Ali Smith; Cherry, Nico Walker

Support Relief for Family Suffering at the BorderRAICES DONATION CAMPAIGN

“Some days you get up and you already know that things aren’t going to go well. They’re the type of days when you should just give in, put your pajamas back on, make some hot chocolate and read comic books in bed with the covers up until the world looks more encouraging. Of course, they never let you do that.” – Bill Watterson


Coffee Log, Day 78


Coffee: Organic Honduran, Trader Joe’s brand

A black woman and a white man were fired from Joe Van Gogh on Duke’s campus. The story varies on who cut the cord but there’s no question it all started with Larry Moneta. Larry is Duke’s VP. He’s a regular at Joe’s. According to the Indy article, he buys a lot of vegan muffins. Three days ago, he went in for another. The black shift leader – Ms. Britni Brown – was in charge of the cafe’s playlist. ‘Get Paid’ by Young Dolph was playing. It thumps. It’s trap. Dolph uses profanity. It talks about sex. Mature song, mature themes, no better or worse than a passage of Shakespeare. Larry didn’t like the music. He told Ms. Brown to shut it off and she did. She tried to comp him the muffin but he payed anyway. Then he called Joe Van Gogh and (this is where the stories differ) implied Ms. Brown and her coworker should be let go.

I think the crux of this story – what shows you it’s a dog-whistle – is that Larry wouldn’t let Ms. Brown comp the muffin. You see, I’ve worked customer service for many years. There’s a fundamental principal in customer service: please the customer, close the sale, keep them coming back. There were times at the bookstore where we’d knock the price off a pristine copy because it would make the customer happy. That’s business. That’s the game. Ms. Brown is a businesswoman acting as she should. If Larry had taken the muffin, accepted her (unnecessary but business savvy) apologies, and gone about his day feeling like the transaction had been successful – or, if he had simply decided Joe Van Gogh wasn’t for him and left without the muffin – things would have worked out. But instead, Larry paid for the muffin.

Why? Because to him, Ms. Brown’s role is not that of a young, professional woman doing her job and acting in that capacity – it is of a black girl born to be lesser. He saw Ms. Brown’s suggestions of a cordial, business-like resolution and refused her terms. More than that, he demanded his own terms over hers – get this, over her authority as representative of the business – and after she acquiesced to that indignity – had dirty, powerful money forced onto her – Larry decided to get her fired anyway.

That is white power in America: the ability to disregard any policy or institution; the inability to acknowledge the authority of any black man or woman.

Currently Reading:
Americanah, by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

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“Get paid…, Get paid, whatever you do, just make sure you get paid.” – Young Dolph, Get Paid