I like the branded, identical city places. I like Starbucks, I like the multiplying steakhouses, I like IKEA. I will choose to take a seat at Starbucks or the closest equivalent available to me because it offers a sense of familiarity without being uncomfortably intimate. I will endlessly appreciate how the employees do not greet me as I enter just because I’ve been there a handful of times before, how they do not pour my regular drink out of assumption (even though I will not have changed my preference), how they do not strike up small-talk, and do not come over to my table to ask whether or not I was pleased with my mug of black coffee.
Generally there is even enough room and a non-intimate enough atmosphere in these places, I can even avoid having other guests attempting to soil my solitary state.
I hate the little, independent, cosy places. The ones you are occasionally nagged at to frequent more often and “rescue it” from closing down or becoming one of the evil big named things. In these places, people try to talk to you. They think ordering this black coffee means you want to be asked about your day or complimented on your hair. Other patrons may find it acceptable to look over your shoulder and gargle some attempt at connecting at you; “What are you reading? I am asking even though you are clearly concentrating on your reading, because I am an attention seeking brat. Look at me, look at me, look at me.”
Thank you, big corporate evil named things, for lifting me out of this social misery. I would hug you if I could. Fortunately, you’re too big.
