It's that season again. Cider has returned.
This evening, I woke up from my post-work cat nap with a strong desire for Goodbye Blue Monday Coffeehouse. All I wanted was a blue ceramic mug of cider, my laptop (with the motivation to actually write!), and something calm and familiar playing on the overhead speakers. I arrived and set up my laptop at one of the Formica tables near the espresso machine and counter, facing the doorway: my favorite place to watch the Blue Monday clientele shuffle through the entryway.
The above photo was snapped by my friend Molly in the fall of our senior year in college. I used to come here quite a bit (a lot with her, actually) under the guise of "studying." Usually, "studying" at Blue Monday meant sitting with books open but ignored, coffee in hand, and a laughing conversation about something funny this weekend or a quiet one-on-one chat about something deeper. I'm wearing the same sweatshirt right now, actually, but have a far less contemplative expression -- possibly because I can't help but be incredibly distracted by the conversations I can overhear right now. I'm sitting between two tables of college students, presumably studying. One table chirps loudly about Saturday practices and their mesa de conversacion; the other chats about the college search and how Boulder is a SWEET town. That table could be high schoolers, actually, but who can tell the difference these days? (PS. They are definitely high schoolers... they're talking about the ACT and complaining about their 30 and 32 scores. Oh, kids).
The point is, I still come to this place for the same comfort as I did two or even six years ago. It's more than just a coffeehouse. It's a social hub; a place for people to meet their friends at 6AM; to get a smoothie midday while strolling Division Street; or come in and sit (even loudly), with a group of friends under the front of productivity. Every bit of this place has been thought out and cultivated by its founders and owners -- but sitting here, you don't necessarily realize it. It's just natural that there are multicolored Formica tables, unique lamps, a cozily saggy couch, and random artwork hanging from the walls. It's part of the landscape of this place, and its owners are fiercely protective of its authenticity. Rightly so.
This place has served as more than just a vehicle for my coffee addiction. It was where my parents and I sat one last time before they moved me into my first-year residence hall, the first year of college. My dad told me the story of his tattoo as a rite of passage (and that story deserves its own post, at some point). Blue Monday is where I always came when my friends and I escaped the Hill for an afternoon on the town. It's where I sat, sipping a latte, when I first dreamed up my senior art show. My dad, who loves coffee more than me, always brought us to Blue Monday five times daily for a scone and large coffee when my parents visited (including his "large, dark, to go" order at 9PM). I was here when I got a phone call from a close friend, where, to my shock, out flooded his true feelings for me -- all the while pacing back and forth repeatedly, since it was snowing outside, until my friend/co-barista Laura made me sit down and process. When I faced graduation without any job prospects at my alma mater, I turned to Blue Monday for employment, promising my boss at least six months and my relentless dedication to all things Blue Monday and all things coffee. While I worked here full-time, I became part of a family so mismatched but complete, I actually survived months of uncertainty while living in a fungus-infested basement. When the area around my apartment flooded badly this past weekend (worse than the previous post ever could have foreshadowed), I couldn't simply cross the bridge to my coffee and it felt too strange.
This place is run unlike any business I've seen, down to the last detail when a new menu item is added or new piece of equipment introduced. The bosses/owners/managers keep it this way by investing themselves into it. In turn, they also became sort of mentors to me, offering anything from Catherine's thoughts on online dating to Dan's advice on how to remove fungus from carpet. Dan has a fantastic love of music, expressed without filter or hesitation, and uncanny ability to predict the next big bands (he predicted Yeasayer MONTHS before they exploded). Catherine, in her calm, even-keeled way, asks about life updates and offers glimpses of their kids' latest antics.
They have become part of my morning routine, a few minutes in my mornings there to jump-start my day. Now, as I'm a "barista emerita," I enjoy meeting the newbies and watching them become more comfortable with the rhythm of this place. It isn't for everyone, in terms of employment. But, Dan and Catherine seem to find a pretty incredible mix of people to trust with this place. And for what it's worth, I'm grateful to them for letting me in.
Back to this table, at this moment: ZachAttack working to close behind the counter, my mug cooling since I finished my cider an hour ago, and the satisfaction that I finally calmed my day enough to sit, listen, type, and sip.
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