What the hell happened here? Those were my first thoughts when I entered our neighborhood Starbucks after its scheduled two week renovation. True, I expected a few adjustments and some cosmetic alterations—but the changes to what was once a charming respite from the daily grind, bordered on what I consider an “unpropitious remodel.”
In all fairness to this establishment, the new setup wasn’t exactly post-apocalyptic in its presentation. Quite the contrary. When I walked inside, I saw display cases adroitly adorned with products; a barista bar expanding the width of the store—its new equipment glistening in the ambient light; and a cluster of tables and chairs, locked in their spaces like exhibits at a museum.
Now why would I liken this freshly-coiffed setting to such a negative descriptor? Let’s begin with science. A study conducted at Florida State University examined the sociopsychological dynamics involved in different types of coffee houses. The article suggests several key functions performed by coffee houses: they (1) afford guests a sense of community or—if needed—anonymity while still close to others; (2) offer a safe place to relax from the more demanding roles in life; and (3) provide a neutral environment for completing work or personal tasks. Seating preferences and configurations were also addressed by the study’s author, Dr. Lisa Waxman. When given a choice, most patrons select seats that are either sheltered, along a wall, or proximal to an architectural feature (a pivotal point in this discussion).
Call me a romantic, but prior to its reconstruction, I treasured this particular Starbucks more than most in Phoenix. Reminiscent of tucked-away cafés in Europe, with its cozy, laid-back feel, I imagined myself transported to a time when notable writers and artists congregated in such places. Immersed in my fantasies, I’d nestle in a corner and write, energized by the electric hum of my imagination coursing through my body.
But the joy I’d experienced for the past several years, however, was over in a fortnight. My peaceful days of writing had ended with the first blast of a jackhammer against the shop’s porcelain tiled floor. The comfy nooks—gone. The easy chairs and extra task tables—missing. Instead, a meager arrangement of tables now sits stoically within the center space: three tall bistros, one sizable farmhouse, and four small desks. True, seating is available outside. But at what price? When it comes to thermal comfort, my creative juices flow best within the 70º-80º range. So what if that makes me a diva? How can I write when it’s 108º and my fingers are melting onto the keyboard?
It’s not personal, it’s business . . .
Since reading Dr. Waxman’s article, the word “camper” has taken on a different connotation to mean “a term given by coffee shop staff to patrons who often sit and stay for hours.” The word applies to core groups of people: students, retirees, professionals and, of course, writers, who linger in these establishments because of what is offered—a relaxed, workable microcosm embedded within the greater scope of today’s stressed-out world. Why not provide a pleasant hangout for this group? From an outsider’s perspective, it makes sense. But for business proprietors?
Although campers purchase food and beverages like other guests, they interfere with the rate of turnover by hogging seats normally available to newcomers. People get ticked off, leave, then look for a better place to drink their cup of joe. And what happens next? A loss to the business—in clientele and potential revenue.
It’s no coincidence the renovation turned out as it did. Because it was planned, purposive. By eliminating the preferential seating that encourages lingerers to stay, the problem was solved. To me, it was a disappointing loss that brought to mind the question: How can we as a society balance human needs with monetary concerns?
Even before the beginning of this millennium, Americans have allowed the gradual infestation of technological advancements, guised as conveniences and purveyors of enjoyment, to overwhelm and usurp our power. Texts, tweets and posts on various social networks deplete our souls of personal contact and connection with others. Add to the mix the rise in crime and global unrest; our weakened financial backbone; and an increasing number of fractured families throughout the country. The result—a nation, teeming with life, yet lonely and alienated at its core.
The golden age of this twenty-first century allows us newfound hope and optimism for our future on this planet. With peaceful coexistence as our focus, we can search for ways to better meet our survival and emotional needs and improve the quality of our lives. The success of this plan, however, will require a colossal shift in consciousness, a greater compassion toward others and reassessment of outmoded priorities. This campaign must begin at the community level with a redesign of public and commercial spaces to facilitate, not discourage, a sense of kinship among its members. By achieving a balance between enterprise and the well-being of people everywhere, we—as humans—can have it all.
*Waxman, L. (2006). The Coffee Shop: Social and Physical factors Influencing Place Attachment. Journal of Interior Design, 31(3), 35-53.
In all fairness to this establishment, the new setup wasn’t exactly post-apocalyptic in its presentation. Quite the contrary. When I walked inside, I saw display cases adroitly adorned with products; a barista bar expanding the width of the store—its new equipment glistening in the ambient light; and a cluster of tables and chairs, locked in their spaces like exhibits at a museum.
Now why would I liken this freshly-coiffed setting to such a negative descriptor? Let’s begin with science. A study conducted at Florida State University examined the sociopsychological dynamics involved in different types of coffee houses. The article suggests several key functions performed by coffee houses: they (1) afford guests a sense of community or—if needed—anonymity while still close to others; (2) offer a safe place to relax from the more demanding roles in life; and (3) provide a neutral environment for completing work or personal tasks. Seating preferences and configurations were also addressed by the study’s author, Dr. Lisa Waxman. When given a choice, most patrons select seats that are either sheltered, along a wall, or proximal to an architectural feature (a pivotal point in this discussion).
Call me a romantic, but prior to its reconstruction, I treasured this particular Starbucks more than most in Phoenix. Reminiscent of tucked-away cafés in Europe, with its cozy, laid-back feel, I imagined myself transported to a time when notable writers and artists congregated in such places. Immersed in my fantasies, I’d nestle in a corner and write, energized by the electric hum of my imagination coursing through my body.
But the joy I’d experienced for the past several years, however, was over in a fortnight. My peaceful days of writing had ended with the first blast of a jackhammer against the shop’s porcelain tiled floor. The comfy nooks—gone. The easy chairs and extra task tables—missing. Instead, a meager arrangement of tables now sits stoically within the center space: three tall bistros, one sizable farmhouse, and four small desks. True, seating is available outside. But at what price? When it comes to thermal comfort, my creative juices flow best within the 70º-80º range. So what if that makes me a diva? How can I write when it’s 108º and my fingers are melting onto the keyboard?
It’s not personal, it’s business . . .
Since reading Dr. Waxman’s article, the word “camper” has taken on a different connotation to mean “a term given by coffee shop staff to patrons who often sit and stay for hours.” The word applies to core groups of people: students, retirees, professionals and, of course, writers, who linger in these establishments because of what is offered—a relaxed, workable microcosm embedded within the greater scope of today’s stressed-out world. Why not provide a pleasant hangout for this group? From an outsider’s perspective, it makes sense. But for business proprietors?
Although campers purchase food and beverages like other guests, they interfere with the rate of turnover by hogging seats normally available to newcomers. People get ticked off, leave, then look for a better place to drink their cup of joe. And what happens next? A loss to the business—in clientele and potential revenue.
It’s no coincidence the renovation turned out as it did. Because it was planned, purposive. By eliminating the preferential seating that encourages lingerers to stay, the problem was solved. To me, it was a disappointing loss that brought to mind the question: How can we as a society balance human needs with monetary concerns?
Even before the beginning of this millennium, Americans have allowed the gradual infestation of technological advancements, guised as conveniences and purveyors of enjoyment, to overwhelm and usurp our power. Texts, tweets and posts on various social networks deplete our souls of personal contact and connection with others. Add to the mix the rise in crime and global unrest; our weakened financial backbone; and an increasing number of fractured families throughout the country. The result—a nation, teeming with life, yet lonely and alienated at its core.
The golden age of this twenty-first century allows us newfound hope and optimism for our future on this planet. With peaceful coexistence as our focus, we can search for ways to better meet our survival and emotional needs and improve the quality of our lives. The success of this plan, however, will require a colossal shift in consciousness, a greater compassion toward others and reassessment of outmoded priorities. This campaign must begin at the community level with a redesign of public and commercial spaces to facilitate, not discourage, a sense of kinship among its members. By achieving a balance between enterprise and the well-being of people everywhere, we—as humans—can have it all.
*Waxman, L. (2006). The Coffee Shop: Social and Physical factors Influencing Place Attachment. Journal of Interior Design, 31(3), 35-53.
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