Lake-Effect Coffee, Chapter 3
Our trio lays the foundation and finds connection in unexpected (and dusty) places.
In case you missed it, here are the previous chapters:
The cock-a-doodle-doo of my 99-cent barnyard sounds app cuts through the quiet. After a pause, my finger quivers above the Snooze button before delicately tapping Stop. With a quick stretch of my arms, I take one step to the window and twist the rod, allowing the first traces of dawn into my bedroom.The sight of a still-unused coffee van greets me mockingly. The landscape looks more like Indiana than I care to admit. The aluminum shell breaks up the flat fields, a miniature skyline on my stretch of the state highway—one of the trial areas for the Highway Beautification Act. Before Lady Bird’s initiative was enshrined in the US Code, local dignitaries took a press ride down this very strip of road (or so the plaque said when I moved in). I like to think my van would make them proud.
That thought reminds me: I need to write a check for the van payment later today. This payment marks one year of the van sitting in my driveway. If I’m unable to realize our plans in the next few months, our friendly van will never break up the monotony of another day under the fluorescent lights of my 9-5.
Forty-five minutes later, I settle into my office desk chair, determined to make some progress. If our plan is going to come to fruition, we need a machine that can make coffee. World Wide Web, here I come.
By the time I’ve finished my first cup of K-cup coffee and performed my deep breathing exercises to avoid gagging, I’ve found a few options and dropped the links into the Slack with Robin and Matthew.
Me: there are some really great coffee makers on this website!
Me: I thought Amazon.com was known for books!
Four chimes come back instantaneously.
Robin: yo these are distinctly…domestic.
Robin: we’re not getting a Mr Coffee for our kitchen
Robin: smh
Robin: one min
Unclear why she took a shot at Mr Coffee, I wait for her to continue. Barely 45 seconds later, she delivers a full project plan, including a Bill of Materials and a training curriculum.
Robin: it looks like we can either go to the culinary school or the university to become certified baristas
Robin: the university is cheaper but the culinary school includes a trip to Italy with Howard Schultz
Robin: I’ll browse craigslist and any surplus stores for the urns and machines we’ll need
Her husband enters the chat.
Matthew: thanks both for the forward momentum
Matthew: I’m a bit skeptical that barista certification will help us, we’re trying to meet people in the community, not promote ourselves on LinkedIn
Matthew: what if we get a Keurig and those cups with the paper handles that fold out?
Me: gonna veto the Keurig, why do you think I wanted to quit my job in the first place?
Matthew: LOL. that’s fair. seems like we’re in agreement on the cups with the paper handles
Me: we can afford either culinary school + Italy + Mr Schultz OR cups with paper handles, which shall it be?
The next two pings come in at the same time.
Robin: Italy
Matthew: paper handles
Me: it seems I am the swing vote. let’s table this for today. @robin did you find anything on craigslist?
Robin: maybe! somebody is selling a La Marzocco. the Lamborghini of espresso machines
Me: does it seat three?
Matthew: do the doors open upwards?
Robin doesn’t answer our questions but adds a 😂 reaction to each. I feel satisfied with my joke, but even this haphazard interaction has reminded me why I would do anything with these two. My first hour of not working has flown by, and for the first time all week, I feel alive. At the office, my personality stays hidden under the same blueish lights that illuminate my professional stasis. With Robin and Matthew, I get to use it all—even if it’s just for some nonsense about espresso machines.
Robin: I reached out. I wonder how they came in possession of this!
When I clock out at 4:23, we’ve made a plan to go see the La Marzocco in person. I wait in the sad parking lot of my office park for Matthew to arrive, like a suburban bus rider waiting for an unreliable local service. Once we start serving coffee for a living, I plan to never come back to this part of town, no matter how many times my coworkers say they feel “comfortable” and “safe” here.
Matthew’s pulls up in his car and I climb into the backseat, grateful to be out of the sun-soaked blacktop. Robin hands me a seltzer and I accept, hoping to rehydrate my soul.
“We picked up some beverages for our potential benefactress. A token of good will, ya know? She doesn’t capitalize any letters in her emails, so I think she’s young? Violet capitalized every word, remember?”
I ask about their schedule, “When do you all work?” Even though I’ve done approximately zero work today, I can’t help feeling guilty about leaving right on time. At least no one will find me guilty of time fraud—management is content with my freeze state as long as I have Microsoft Teams open at my desk.
While Matthew plays bus driver, I think back to the yellow school bus where we met in the early aughts, and I feel grateful for the institution that introduced us. What would a bus for adults look like, I wonder? It would only work in a world where chatting with strangers wasn’t seen as intrusive or awkward—a culture that encouraged genuine connections without forcing them into small talk. I make a note to bring this up at dinner—if we even eat again today. If this meeting goes well, we may switch exclusively to an espresso diet.
A few minutes later, Matthew pulls up slowly in front of a small bungalow on a tree-lined street, where sunlight filters through leafy branches. I hear a ding in my head—my soul is no longer running on empty. The bungalow’s pale blue paint is crisp and the front steps are uniformly lined with clay flower pots. The arrangement is lovely but I’m unable to identify the flowers given I only know tulips. We’ve reached the part of town dotted with single-family homes on the original street grid, before the big-box stores and soulless strip malls took over. As I step out of the car, I catch a whiff of blooming cherry blossoms and freshly-cut grass. The curb consists of individual grey stones, over which I step as the three of us walk down the driveway towards a detached garage. Matthew nods forward and we notice the garage door is open, the single-car space dimly illuminated by a single bulb. A faint smell of rubber drifts out to greet us, and an inflatable rubber duck, improbably perched on a stack of bankers boxes, smiles our way.
“Hello?” Matthew inquires, and a bird chirps a response, presumably from a tree or the power lines above, but I imagine it was the rubber duck. Robin smiles as if she’s thinking the same.
A woman who could be Robin’s sister pokes her head out from behind the dusty boxes. “You must be Robin!”
Robin raises one hand in a wave and points at Matthew and myself to complete introductions. “What was your name again? Your house is lovely, by the way.”
“Oh! Thank you so much. My brain’s all over the place today…I’m Morgan. I’m glad you could stop by today. You said you’re opening a coffee van?”
Matthew responds, “That’s us! We’re on a mission to bring authenticity into our lives. We going to leave the corporate system and their social compact of never having to worry about money unless you want to do something else. We’ve chosen the ‘something else.’ At least, we’re going to try.”
“Good for you,” Morgan looks wistfully towards Matthew as if she has just remembered something. “Come around here, I’ve almost got The Beast uncovered back here.”
Robin continues our conversation from the car, “We were trying to guess why you have a La Marzocco sitting in your garage. Has it been used?”
Morgan steps back from the boxes, crosses her arms, and begins. “Not in a few years, I did the same thing as you once. Well, not with a van. But with coffee and authenticity. I wanted to be a writer but during the day I worked at an advertising firm. How they managed to turn a craft of words, pictures, and human psychology into spreadsheets and emails, I don’t understand to this day. During meetings, I would daydream back to the campus coffee shop I ran during college. Come to speak of it, living on campus was the last time I felt real community. After I left those centrally planned, walkable spaces—and their public funding—it’s like no one acknowledges each other anymore. Onward economic soldiers march! Anyway! After I paid off my student loans, I quit and found a commercial lease two blocks from Work Park. I acquired The Beast from someone with a similar story.”
Morgan takes a beat, her expression shifting as if she’s realizing something new. “It seems we’ve created a lineage of those of us attempting to break away. Anyway! I was starting to recognize some regulars when my lease renewal jumped from $2,000 to $200,000 a month, forcing me to go back to the advertising firm. I still feel vomit rise in my throat when I pass what’s there now, Dunkin’. I think there’s only two in town, I have no idea why they chose my location.”
I feel inspired to carry her vision forward, this time on wheels. So many of us have recognized the same lifelessness of corporate culture and I feel the welcome burden to make them proud. Matthew negotiates free use of The Beast in return for drip coffee on-the-van (our version of “on-the-house”) for Morgan for life—or at least until her economic, social, or familial prospects take her out of town. It’s the kind of deal where we all leave feeling a little warmer inside. Robin promises to let Morgan know when we begin brewing, and we depart with small leaps off the curb—Matthew’s difficulty amplified by hefting The Beast. The sun bathes the scene in early-evening warmth. In the background, the rubber duck is still smiling.
***
Robin’s voice opens the next scene. “She’ll be in here 10 minutes, let’s make sure the space is buttoned-up.”
We owe her for this one. Landing us a magazine interview for the local happenings zine is a coup. Matthew and I have wanted to get in this publication for years but we never had a legitimate reason besides “we go to random things!” Turns out all we had to do was serve coffee.
Matthew, playing a game we call Intentional Misunderstanding, quips, “What did you call my button-up?”
Robin and I don’t respond; the game rewards effort and we all win.
While Robin adjusts the display of pastries and Matthew preps the espresso machine, I’m on a step ladder dusting the ceiling with a Q-tip. After I finish this task to my personal satisfaction and literally pat myself on the back, I take a quick pass around the outside of the van to clear out any potential cobwebs that have formed during our hour parked in this space.
Matthew found an amazing spot on which to conduct the interview; feeling spooked since our recent encounter with Finkman, we avoided Work Park and instead cozied up on the edge of the Parade Grounds. Where the local militia once ran drills to ensure an alert and prepared citizenry, we fuel an alert and apathetic workforce. The green Bermuda grass transitions to stones on the perimeter of the grounds, and under four stately elms, we’ve parked our coffee oasis. The stones remind Matthew of Sedona, and he can’t resist mentioning the “rock garden vibes” to every customer. I’m not sure if it’s working, but it’s become part of our routine.
We hear the gentle slam of a car door and pop our three faces into the back window of the van, where we see a woman wearing blue jeans and a tartan poncho approaching us with an air of casual authority.
Matthew gives himself a pep talk, throws two thumbs up in our direction, and pops open the back door.
“Welcome to Lake-Effect Coffee!”
Robin and I follow Matthew out of the van, our dominant hands extended to greet the person who can make or break our coffee venture.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Sharon with A-Bomb.” We each shake her hand. “Is now a good time to chat?”
Matthew has a knack for observing a norm and eviscerating it, part of the reason he will do anything to avoid returning to corporate culture. “We’re chatting now, aren’t we?” For anyone else this may come off as rude, but Matthew’s charm drips off the page. I notice Sharon blush, which is my cue to step back into the van and let the master work.
I spend the rest of the week in a trance. Until I see Lake-Effect Coffee in print, our future feels insecure.
The following Monday, we are back at the Parade Grounds and our morning starts fast with two customers before 9am. All six of our ears perk up when the second one days, “I just had to come and see the rock garden! I love what y’all have done with the place.”
Could the A-Bomb feature be out? After sharing a glance with Matthew and Robin, I take off sprinting to the nearest newsstand. Swinging open the door, I say to the shop-owner while panting, “Do you…have the…latest…A-Bomb:…Explosive Happenings…in stock?”
A small man with saltpeter-grey hair and wearing a teal tee points to the corner, “Last copy! Everybody is talking about some new rock garden? Where are we…Sedona?”
“Sedona…that’s so funny,” I mumble, staring at the man for longer than is socially acceptable. Anxious to escape my trance, I begin reading the entire magazine from the masthead, not even checking the table of contents for where our feature begins. The jingle of the door eventually snaps me out of it, and I see Robin enter with an impatient look.
“You’ve been gone half an hour…is everything okay? Let’s get back to the van.” She plops three dollar bills on the counter and says to the man, “We’re serving coffee with a smile across the street if you’re interested!”
With a mumbled thanks, I shuffle Robin out the door and hand her the magazine. “Matthew may have oversold the rock garden.”
Back at the van, a small line has formed. Robin steps in to make lattes and I take the orders of two customers customers while Matthew is ringing others up. We are still a well-oiled machine when we want to be, but I feel a mix of giddiness at our new customers and dread at what it took to get them here.
When we get a break in customers, Matthew, completely unaware, is ready to debrief, “What a GREAT morning! Did you see all those smiles? One guy invited us to his board game night and another woman wants to supply us pastries. If those aren’t the weak ties we were hoping to create through this venture, I don’t know what is. We did it! I feel so FREE!”
With his monologue complete, Matthew speaks to us again, “Now! Where’s the magazine?” Robin slides it to him across the freshly-cleaned counter and he recognizes himself on the cover, which has Matthew holding a cup of coffee and a croissant in front of the rock garden. The rock garden which isn’t actually a rock garden and we just happened to park by that day because of our Finkman spooks. The spread on pages 15 and 16 features a close-up of our chalkboard sign, the pastry dome, and two random customers holding our cups (with Lake-Effect Coffee written in ballpoint pen on the side). Not pictured: Robin, myself, or the van.
“At least they got my good side!”
Robin and I exchange a glance, each giving the other a chance to speak. She is a professional at Nonviolent Communication and I urge her to speak with a small nod, “Matthew, I love you and we appreciate the steps you took to bring us new customers today. But next time, I’m begging you to run your talking points by us. Do people even know we drive to different parts of town? The rock garden will have to work for us for the time being, I guess.”
It’s a rare moment when Robin hasn’t started us on a pragmatic next step, and I recognize my heart and soul are needed. It’s because of my dreams that these two fools quit their jobs to sell coffee with a smile. They don’t have health insurance because of me, and that’s something I’ll have to reckon with. For now, I make a mental note to research PPOs, HMOs, and OMGs later tonight.
I speak with a quiet confidence, “I think we all know what we need to do.”
Over the next week, we park at an art fair, a car show, and a golf scramble. Our newly required setup begins 90 minutes earlier, with Matthew arranging boulders, Robin placing ferns and cacti, and me spritzing everything with a spray bottle to create a morning mist. If customers want a rock garden, we’ll give them a rock garden.
Elsewhere
In addition to my writing here, I also mentor software engineers in a supportive and sometimes silly environment.
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