And so it goes..

A man, youngish yet withered by his jaded view of the world, sits at his desk and begins to type on his laptop - the first time he has attempted anything outside the creation of corporate memorandums, emails, proposals and literature within the similar vein, for 3 months. The cursor, blinking ever so steadily, akin to perhaps an elderly lady with a walker straddling a pedestrian crossing, entices his fingertips to translate ideas into words on a page. He stares at the cursor. It says nothing. He stares blankly. Nothing but self-absorbed, self-referential drivel emanates onto the screen. Why isnt there anything to write about? There appears to be a plethora of objects to inspire mediocre comment on. Phone bills piled up to the left of his laptop, an empty cup of coffee from the night before still bears the stains of cheap nestcafe, and amongst this mad modern mess, a pen sits idly by the ipod. Pen: mightier than the sword, might err in the presence of the word processor. He types a sentence, deletes it, and lets the pen idea slide - no point philosophising about the evolution of how ideas have been recorded by humans for other humans. He decides to summarise this idea in one sentence, not to trivialise it, but merely to point out the frivolity in thinking it can be expressed in an internet forum. He writes 'spoken word, cave drawings (ochre), sand drawings, papyrus, inks, quail, pencil, pen, printing, typewriter, wordprocessor'. So it goes.

He has called in sick at work today, in order to pursue other goals which are difficult to partake on working days. Despite taking the first step in making some time, laziness rears its head and fixates its eyes on the mind numbing entertainment that is Midday TV (free-to-air). Girls are screaming because some celebrity or the other with an axe to grind and a product/film/album to plug have shown up on a couch next to the ever omnipotent Oprah. Dr Phil spends an hour discussing various marital problems, before rubbing it in everyones face at the end of the show when he walks off ever so happily with his wife. Melodramatic antics ensue on various soap operas when someones husbands dog marries his sister, dies and comes back to life, or so you would think until you realise that the husband is actually the father, best friend and second uncles cousin of the girl who is the town bicycle. Very confusing. Next up, a man with a history of petty crime and a ragged checkered shirt requests the payment of $200 from his ex-lover: an overweight, underdressed and illiterate character who allegedly broke her ex-boyfriends window when they lived together 2 years ago. Judge Judy's verdict is final - someone wins, but ultimately the viewer loses. So it goes.

He sits back in front of his laptop, upon the realisation that none of the things he'd set out to do today had been achieved. His attempt at contributing to an otherwise (relatively) interesting forum has simply become a trite recollection of a day spent in the usual mediocrity and obscurity many of us in the middle(ish) classes have become accustomed to. He realises however, that things could be worse, the pain of midday TV or living in a sub-saharan slum. Middle class guilt sets in, and he decides to give some money to charity. He walks away realising that he hasn't yet given up his name to those reading his blog post, but that part of him continues to walk away from the screen. Since we don't know his name, let's call him 'I'. And so it goes.

Nice to meet you, stranger I've known a while..

If there's one industry that has profited from the steady increase in working hours over the last 50 years in most of the worlds nations, it is the beverage industry - specifically re (in wanky corporate office lingo we say 're' for regarding) coffee. The digital age has the whole world connected 24/7, and the playing field has been 'flattened' (Thomas Friedman - The World is Flat [2004]) thanks to outsourcing - quality skills at lower market rates - fiber optic cables, web browsers and everything else i'm sure all intelligent readers are aware of. However this flattening has seen the emergence and subsequent proliferation of the angular, yet cylindrical figure many of us take for granted as an integral part of our day to day minutae - your coffee cup.

To notice the coffee habits of coworkers is to understand their cycles, whether they're morning or afternoon people, whether they use coffee as an innocent pick-me-up, or they devour it 10 times a day just to get wired since it may be inappropriate to snort a line of cocaine off ones HP notebook (unless you're in investment banking, in which case this i'm told this is regular fare on a friday afternoon in the bathrooms - see http://www.leveragedsellout.com/ ). The direction of the lifestyle-coffee relationship is uncertain, but evident. As a result we grow accustomed to, perhaps even attached, to our local barista. This is the genius, the man amongst men, that works at the cafe which services all the caffene hungry constituents in surrounding office blocks, and memorises each individuals order. When you turn up, there's no verbal order but a code word - 'the usual'. Suddenly from being a cog in a wheel (in an office) one is made to feel like a someone.

The barista/regular customer relationship is a special one, and could well serve as a model for many a successful relationship. Some opt for an interaction of efficiency: for $3.00, you get satisfaction guaranteed with no questions asked, and bit of small talk before leaving with a smile. Others have their barista as a listening ear, rewarded for divulging their life secrets with something hot, possibly sweet, and certainly satisfying. It is precicely the sort of bond which keeps many of us office plebs going through the day, knowing that tomorrow contains the possibilty of the same.

Those who aren't coffee drinkers (or 'mocha' drinkers - please don't say you're buying coffee if you're getting a mocha) wouldn't understand this relationship, perhaps equating it more with traditional retail/consumer interactions. Maybe they're tea drinkers - the type who go out to essentially pay for boiling water, as most establishments will source teabags from your regulars; Mildura, Tetley, dare I say Dilmah. 'You ordered a camomile tea' - goodness gracious that cafe makes good boiling water. Hot chocolate drinkers are generally the types who don't frequent beverage establishments often, as it is not the sort of drink to have daily. The hot chocolate order, i'm told by our barista Ben, is either the order of the aloof, or the order of novelty - that is non-frequenters.

After posting this one here, i'm gonig to walk over and say hi to Ben. He will say 'the usual', there will be a nod of confirmation and a returning nod for recognition. We will lament and discuss the dearth of mens magazines in the cafe (only reading material is womens/gossip mags) and i'll get my card stamped and collect my 30 mins of satisfaction in a cup, and return to my desk. The Moccopan coffee brand has an interesting slogan which I never understood until recently: 'Coffee Philosophy'. Perhaps its my own particular delusion, could be a number of completely incorrect abstract connections, but this beautifully bittersweet drink does have something to say about people, their interactions, and maybe the world around us. Philosophy indeed.