Wednesday, December 30, 2009

open door politics


If you’ve sat right next to the door at Berkeley Espresso at night, this image might evoke some strong memories. Or, rather, that image juxtaposed with the image below it. Juxtaposed with the one below that. And the one below that. And below that. And that. And, you get the picture, right?


I didn’t remember how much of a mini-drama there is unfolding around this door at the corner of Hearst and Shattuck Avenues until I sat there last night next to a woman who was obviously suffering from the cold. Bent over shivering every time the door opened and stayed open. And that was quite often.


You see, every time the door opens, it gets stuck. There’s a little metal door stopper at the bottom that does what it should when it should, and then does what it should when it shouldn’t. Maybe it’s greased too well, or just needs to be replaced. But anyway, as soon as the door opens, that thing is on its way down, dragging along the ground as the door’s being pushed open, and then digging into the concrete outside when it’s released.


A couple walks in, and she shivers again. Obviously indignant at this, another guy gets up from his chair several tables over, and, shaking his head slightly, steps outside, kicks the door stopper up, and pulls the door shut. Exaggerated movements, as if the couple that now stands staring at the menu on the wall has the slightest clue about what’s going on.


Now, normally this sticking thing’s not a problem for me. Actually I kind of like it. If you’ve had a coffee at Berkeley Espresso at night, when the breath and body heat of 25 computer users and emanations from 3 or 4 tall leafy mini-trees create steam that fogs the cafe’s long wall of windows, you know: it can feel like a sauna in here. That’s probably why the two guys over there were looking at each other, laughing slightly, slightly annoyed at the guy who went and closed the door. This must be an ongoing thing.


Yeah, I guess that’s the camp I’m in too. That little door stopper is a lifesaver sometimes. The ‘inner reaches’ of the cafe can be especially oppressive, where you have to squeeze your way into a seat and have even more trouble extricating yourself from the tangle of wires, chairs and glares of the oft-times library-ish crowd, breathing, exhaling, emanating, steaming…


So here we are in the corner seat by the door, where there’s just enough cool air coming in from the outside to balance the waves of heat and humidity inside (ever experienced BEING advection fog before? It’s quite stimulating actually…).

Yup, you got it, the door’s open again. Another couple has just left, talking with each other excitedly—must be the first time in hours by the looks of it, after they packed up their laptops and books from another evening studying. Meanwhile, as the cool air sweeps back in, those of us remaining look up, glance around at each other, and then fix our gazes on that little door stopper, wondering who’s going to make the next move.


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