In the bustling Philadelphian neighborhood of University City, there stands a Starbucks. Its structure is anything but special. The exterior resembles the brand's typical coffee house: pastel colors, classy coffee ads, large windows that let possible customers peek in. The inside, too, brings nothing new to the cafe’s aesthetics. Besides the smooth indie/oldies mix that plays in the background, the busy interior houses awkward placements of objects. The tables within the establishment lay claustrophobic, with little to no space to move around or interact with the environment. The counter lays packed with coffee essentials and trash. Even behind the counter, with machinery and props used for ostentatious drinks, is overpopulated and uncomfortable to watch, just like any old Starbucks shop.
The setting itself populates anxious people seeking for a kick. Everyone that enters, and everyone that leaves, seems to be in constant stress and lacking time. Each customer has their own worries and responsibilities in their day, and comes to the Starbucks to show that they’re busy, and they can afford coffee that tastes awful to the tongue, but socially valuable to Americans, for whatever reason. The cup of coffee demonstrates a need for public interest, rather than to quench a physical thirst.
All the people who walk in, dress themselves with the finer things and/or give the allusion that they have all the right to publicly work. Business people, with their thorough attitudes and arrogant nature, bask in their neat clothing. Men with expensive suits, woman with cashmere and quality dresses, come in to show other coffee drinkers that they most certainly matter. College students, with their nervous demeanors and aspiring beliefs, hunch over their laptops working on some project, homework, paper. All these Starbucks constituents seem to be of different walks of lives, with different jobs and concerns; yet, they all get to self-indulge in the societal approval of having some goddamn Starbucks.
Everyone enters to gratify themselves with their public display of superlatives. With Macbook Pros, iPhone 6s and iPads, Beats headphones dangling from necks, wearing diamond jewelry, sporting name brand shoes, hanging North Face jackets, using SunRay glasses and more, money and self-indulgence is what it’s all about. Some woman in a fur coat complains that her coffee must be served in ceramic mugs, she’s obviously special. Some man, while checking his Rolex, argues that he needs his almond scone immediately--his time is more important than anyone else. Everyone seems to think like this, which in the context of the setting, it’s all totally fine. It’s inside a Starbucks, a place for bourgeois behavior and self-serving conversations that, in the grand scheme of the planet, really don’t matter.
Surprisingly, amidst all of this superficiality, stands a singularity that cannot be ignored: a homeless woman. With her frail body, and almost uncanny behavior, she resides with people who complain that there’s too much ice in their caramel drink. This woman’s suffering, which goes beyond my knowledge, is real and more essential compared to anyone else that enters through those glass doors. Whenever I see her, she wears the same blue jacket, with unimaginable layers of clothing beneath it. Her gray sweatpants and old shoes seem to have gone through so much calamity. They’ve become an extension of her struggles. Her face, old and and strong, reflects her endeavor to live every single day. Her hair, thick and blond, adds to her simple but powerful presence. Obviously, Starbucks people are not like her at all.
Wherever she moves in the coffee shop, she uses her cane to slowly, but surely, go to the bathroom or sit at a small table. As she moves, she leaves behind bags of her possessions. These bags of things hang from her wheelchair, where she can be found at times. Strangely, she speaks sharply. Soft spoken, but with direction and purpose. Without a doubt, a character she is.
I wonder what she thinks. I wonder if it all bothers her. She seems chained to a public place for warmth and comfortability, whilst anyone that enters exudes money, or at least pretends to do so. I can imagine it takes a toll to be constantly reminded of not only what she doesn’t have, but also, what she wants. There are others like her. Homeless people will pop in and out throughout the day looking for spare change. The limits of the human spirit must be tested the moment one lacks all the basics: shelter, food, water, safety. Yet they enter a place where shallow consumer decisions are celebrated.
Where did the humanity go? It disappeared it seems. As collected and compact as humans are in a small coffee shop, we too are as separated and individualistic as we can be. We tell ourselves that the true happy way to live is to manifest our freedom and “significance” through objects. Personality becomes a combination of different commodities; which, toxically, separates us from the human instinct of humility. Does the homeless woman who sits in a Starbucks appear to be more human than everyone else who enters?
I wouldn't be able to say. However, she, like everyone else who lives through such a situation, understands true hardship. She has all the right to despise how presumptuous and hollow a lot of humans have become. Yet, she still surrounds herself with them. It might be convenience, it might be normality. But as much as I hope that one day she’ll find herself in a better chapter of her life, she can serve as a reminder to always be thankful for what we have. Because there will come the day that our expensive clothing, showy technology, and lack of self-awareness won’t bring warmth to a cold reality. Also, a day will come where can't afford a venti s'mores Frappuccino. Regardless, you'd still be a special human, somehow.
