I often travel to an area that is (justifiably) famous for its music scene. There is also a university there. Naturally, this combination spawns a heavy “we’re us and you’re them” vibe in certain circles.
Several months ago, one of the hip coffee shops (which btw really does serve great coffee) took down the large chalkboard behind the bar which displays the menu, so they could repaint. But they never put it back up. And they’re never going to. And they don’t have menus.
If you don’t know, they don’t wanna know, y’know.
I guess if this business model works for them, maybe I shouldn’t complain. And yes, I still stop there b/c I can’t get a better cup of coffee at a better price in a more convenient location. (Secretly, maybe I enjoy shocking the clientele with my government-issue haircut, unpierced skin, and TJ Maxx wardrobe. )
But some little part of me wants to scream <Shatner-on-SNL-voice> “Get over yourselves, people!”
“Oh, yeah, and uh, can you leave a little room for half-and-half? Thanks.”
Sorry, the poetry slams are downstairs. And no poetry board (what, you think they’re gonna allow just anybody to put a poem on the wall?). But they did put back the bad art – which is for sale, of course. Support your local scene, man!
I went to a New Year’s Eve party that was full of people that would have been at home there. What a snore. Then I went to a party full of people that would have been totally out of place there - fun was had by all. If I have to choose between having fun and looking cool, there is absolutely no contest.
You know, the funny thing about the anti- crowd, is how they march in lock-step to their anti-drummer. “I’m a rebel - you can tell by how I wear the same clothes as all the other rebels.”
It cuts both ways, too. I’m a perverse creature that, depending on wardrobe selection, is about equally liable to resemble a Bolshevik, a psychedelic casualty, a flaming leatherboy, or a Mormon missionary.
It frequently fails to amuse me when I observe the different levels of service I receive based on whatever clothes I happen to be wearing. One particular barista at one particular coffee bar is the most egregious example that springs to mind. When I’m dressed like Raskolnikov, she’s flirty and jumps to serve me – gives me cookies, and generally makes me feel very welcome. I get decent (although not extraordinary) service in other configurations – except when I come in all buttoned-down, business casual. You’d think I’d rolled in wee before approaching the counter. She scowls, grunts, barely acknowledges requests, and often ostentatiously begins mopping the floor around my feet while I’m trying to read the paper. “Drink your damned coffee and get out of my fortress of hip, you conformist leper!”
She clearly has no idea I’m the same person. It’s sad, really.
And of course this works in just the opposite way in other establishments. People are often tribalistic morons.
Maybe leaving the chalkboard menu off is not exclusionary at all. Perhaps they’re trying to promote additional interaction with the staff by you having to ask what they have to offer. And once you know what you like, do you really need the menu?
Re,inds me of myself 25 years ago when I was in art school and the people who had the money I needed insisted on buying art based on the decor of their living rooms or what had been interesting in Paris in 1905.
I remember I was at the bookstore of the Walker in Minneapolis when the aisle was blocked by some yuppie guy in a camel hair blazer. Instead of muttering “excuse me” and passing by, I stood there glowering until he realized he was hogging the aisle. God forgive me, I was giving him a full blown “hate stare.” Being a polite Midwesterner, he responded with a spooked look and moved. It’s just one of those moments I’ll always remember as having been a consumate asshole, especially when I encounter college kids who somehow think I had jack shit to say about the state of the world they’ve been bequeathed.
I like this somewhat exclusionary tactic - I mean, you actually have to interact with the staff? That would be so cool. You’ve always (I assume) have the option of going to Starbucks if it annoys you that much…
Come to England and go shopping sometime. You have to ask staff for help; if you don’t ask, they don’t offer, and what’s on the shelves in your average shop is just a fraction of what they have in stock - the rest is in some downstairs or upstairs storage room.
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