The Other Side of Specialty Coffee — When Your Coffee Experience Goes Bitter
Is it just me, or do you get giddy about going to a new coffee shop or the flagship location of a well-known specialty coffee company? That’s how I felt on this particular day … until I didn’t.
I’m not going to blame anything on specialty coffee companies. But I want to talk about the dichotomy of the downtown location of many specialty coffee shops—a place where both the wealthy and the homeless coexist.
We won’t see it on the social media feeds of the trendiest cafes. It’s not comfortable to talk about. But for many coffee shops, it’s their reality. They offer high-end coffee for those who can pay for it in locations surrounded by those who cannot.
Last week, my husband and I surprised our kids with a trip to see a concert in downtown Grand Rapids. This overnight trip was like a consolation prize to our canceled spring break trip. I was excited when I realized we were staying just down the street from the original Madcap Coffee.
We planned accordingly.
My husband would take the kids swimming while I would walk to get coffee. What happened next wasn’t part of the plan.
I made my way out of the hotel towards the coffee shop. As I passed a bench, a homeless man sprang up and asked me for some spare change. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any,” I said. It was true. I had no cash.
He looked disappointed. I walked on.
Finally, I reached the green-trimmed windows of the flagship Madcap cafe. ‘Relief!’ It was bustling with people doing work meetings and working from laptops. I ordered a latte and took the first seat I could find. It was a bar seat along the window with winter sunlight pouring in. I didn’t notice the woman in the seat next to it until I sat down.
She turned to me with a clump of dirt attached to her hair and hanging into her face. “Can I use your phone?” she said. ‘Um… no,’ I thought to myself. “Wwwhat do you need a phone for?” I squeaked out the words. She strung together a few phrases. She had to get money, she explained. She also wanted “hot” coffee. It was cold outside so that made sense. “Do you live near here?” I asked. I don’t know why I said it. I figured she was probably homeless.
I looked around. No one else in the shop seemed to notice her. Except for the employees. ‘Maybe she comes here often,’ I thought.
I pointed out the water station. “Free water,” I explained. I felt frustrated. This was a specialty coffee shop. That’s luxury, in my book. If she was at a fast food restaurant, she could get a whole meal for the price of a coffee here. “Is there a place nearby with a cheaper menu you could go to?” Again, this wasn’t a helpful question. She was the one living on the street. She knew the area better than I did. And yet, she chose to find refuge from the cold at this corner coffee shop.
I could have done nothing. I had no cash on me. Instead, I bought her a $4.50 cup of batch brew. The barista didn’t turn his screen around for me to choose a tip. Instead, he gave me a knowing look, poured the coffee, and handed it to me. ‘Did he even charge my card?’ I wondered.
I could have sat back down next to her and handed her the coffee. I could have heard her story and encouraged her in some way. But I was so uncomfortable with the situation that in my flustered state, I fled. I handed her the cup of coffee, smiled, and all but ran out of there.
A rush of thoughts went through my mind as I walked through the doorway back into the cold. ‘Why did I just leave?! What would she have said? Would she have told the truth about her life … or hidden the ugly parts? Would I have been able to understand her disjointed phrases, the experiences that led her there, or the things she goes through every day? Would she have asked for something else? A warmer coat, perhaps? A ride somewhere? Would I have known how to respond to her?’
I felt bad for running out of there. But I knew why I did it.
The flagship coffee shop that I was so excited to visit had become an uncomfortable place—a luxury space for those with privilege, surrounded by people without.
I knew I couldn’t walk back to the hotel the same way or I’d run into the homeless man who asked me for spare change on the way there. It’d be more awkward this time. I still didn’t have any cash to give him but this time I had a coffee cup in my hand.
‘Did she lie?’ he might wonder.
I chose a different path to walk back. But I felt nervous now, instead of excited. ‘Who would I see on the next street corner? Should I try to hide my coffee cup?’ This thing I craved and desired now felt like a disease in my hand—a six-dollar symbol of wealth and privilege as I passed by those without.
I passed the back of the parking garage, all but looking over my shoulder. I understood now why the hotel had a key-only entry into the front door and why their lobby was on the second floor.
It was for paying guests only.
I approached the door, relieved there was no homeless man on the bench two doors down. I went in—key in one hand, coffee in the other. I made my way to a chair next to a window in the second-floor lobby. I was “safe.”
From the window, I saw the same homeless man walking across the street down below. He passed an older couple. They walked by. Then the man stopped, reached into his pocket, pulled out some coins, and walked back to the homeless man. He handed him change and walked back to his partner.
I saw the look on the homeless man’s face, though I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He stopped and watched the older man walk back to his partner.
‘Was he relieved to have some money? Was he disappointed it wasn’t enough to buy breakfast? Did he wish he could have talked to the man instead of just accepting his money?’ He put the coins in his pocket, then limped across the street again.
I was fully aware that I did not have the power to solve this man’s problems. And yet painfully aware that I did nothing as I sat in the cushioned chair of the second-floor lobby—and drank my coffee.
I’ve helped specialty coffee shops with copywriting and marketing so why am I speaking out against them? I’m not. I’m bringing to the surface something we all know exists. Homeless people live in downtown communities. And so do coffee shops. Can we talk about that?
Could you see yourself in my experience? What would you have done differently? Would you have bought the woman a coffee? Maybe more? Would you have stayed and chatted with her?