Nice To See StevieB: Steve Seeks His Soul Mate

By StevieB

I have lived, pretty much, in the same gay coffee house since it opened in the early nineties. Other than a multi-year life in Dallas in which I spent all my free time drinking coffee at Crossroads, a real gay coffee shop and homo-themed book shop; The gay coffee shop on 9th and Downing on Denver's Capitol Hill was my second home. Every paper for school had been plagerized written within its walls. First dates met and judged. Friends spending hours in quality dishing and chattering time.

Now it seems that time has moved on and this second home is gone. I mean, the business is still there, but its soul is gone. Sold to the highest bidder. This leaves me to find a new home. A new place to spend my time, attending college, arranging first dates, and hanging out with friends. So coffee house courtship begins. God, I hate dating. I mean when it doesn't matter, like guys, it's easy, but this hunt for a coffee shop is important. I am seeking the type of soul mate that matches on the level of a coffee shop. It's important stuff here.

So here's my list: It must be hip/gay...ish, have munchies along with coffee, close to the gay area of town, have a decent area (with power outlets) to chill out and write, and have a continual flow of good-looking guys. And most importantly, not try to kick me out after six hours of writing. You would be amazed how hard it is to find a place like this.

I have begun my search today by writing this entry at a new place on 13th and Downing called Capitol Hill Roastery with the hip vibe of a bigger city, it held promise. The cute and bearded barista was adorable. However; the power outlets were pretty much nonexistent. So I fear I have not found my soul-coffeeshop.

I have this fear that I'm just a dinosaur. A gay that's left over from an earlier age when hanging out in coffee shops was cool. Now, maybe there is no need. I don't want to think I live in the wrong city. That I have a mindset of writing in a coffee shop like a New Yorker, or a bearded gay in Seattle. Denver, please prove me wrong on both counts. All I want was is a coffee shop somewhere; with a comfy chair... next to a power outlet.

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.

Nice To See StevieB: Coffee in a Cardboard Cup

By StevieB

 

Yesterday, I took the day off as I had one goal in mind. To spend the day at my favorite coffee place to work on filing my taxes. It started off smoothly, after ordering my non-Venti latte at the non-Starbucks, I settled in at a table by the window.  Within moments I had linked to my files and began entering numbers into the government e-form. As I reached out to enjoy my first sip on my non-Venti latte I brushed the large cup and sent it flying across the table and onto the floor.  Pouring the entire cup near the feet of the next occupied table.

To be clear, none of my coffee actual hit my fellow gay coffeehouse patron. It must of just been the shock of a random handsome man tossing his full steaming latte in his general direction that sent this Kindle reader in to a tizzy. This empowered Mr. Grumpy to lecture me on proper coffee ownership, the responsibilities and burdens that adults have when deciding that they are mature enough to purchase coffee. All traits that I was, in his opinion, lacking. Mr. Grumpy then decided to explain how I had misjudged my ability to handle drinking coffee, and I should be sorry for involving him in my poor judgment.

There are only so many times you can apologize for a simple accident. In my case it’s four. And because he apparently was such a great judge on who should, or should not be left responsible with a paper cup of coffee, I offered to buy him his next cup of coffee. After my fourth time apologizing, his outrage of my destroying his morning became exceedingly humorous to me. When I pointed out that he might be acting like a Chihuahua whose tail had been stepped on, he grabbed his kindle and coffee stomped to another table. Mere-moments later I could hear him retelling his torturous affair to someone on his phone. He spoke loud enough for me to hear, “Some complete idiot threw his hot drink at me.” Silence… “Yeah. Then he called me a f*#king chihuahua…. No! That’s not funny!!”

Needless to say, I bought a Diet Coke in a bottle and completed my taxes. I’m getting a refund. Maybe I’ll buy sippy cups with some of the money. 

This post originally appeared on Steven Bennet's website Nice to See StevieB. Republished with permission.