I really should just make this post into my About Me section and be done with it. Or I could wear it on a T-shirt. Anyway, here I am at my favorite coffee shop, where I took Mimi Smartypants when she visited, where I write 90% of my posts. If I were an official BlogHer blogger, I bet I could get Dr. Bombay’s to sponsor me every time I mentioned them. (I say I would never be BlogHer blogger, but let’s be real: If they came courting, I’d be all about sponsored posts and reviews. Fortunately, we don’t have to worry about that because I think BlogHer is doing OK without me and vice versa.)

Every time I come here, I think about developing formal etiquette guidelines for coffee shops. It would definitely start with rules for children like Keep Your Hands to Yourself, Thank You, inspired by the toddler a couple of years ago here who was drawn to my fresh cup of coffee that still had bubbles on the top, and he stuck his dirty little finger in my coffee. I was duly horrified, and his mother was nowhere near as horrified as she should have been, just uttering a “Sorry,” and leading him away. (I think the appropriate response would have been to buy me a new, unsullied cup of coffee and maybe a pony.) I also want there to be rules about Taking Phone Conversations Outside, similar to Using Your Inside Voice Because You are an Adult. And table sharing, as mentioned in my famous post above, should be avoided, but if it can’t be, let it be clear that We Are Not Friends. However, if it has to happen, like it did on Sunday when I came in here to do yoga homework and the only option was sharing a table with Sullen MacBook Girl or sitting on the floor, the rule is basically, We Peacefully Coexist. I’m sure she was just as shy as I am, but when I asked her, “Do you mind if I sit here?” she wouldn’t make eye contact and seemed annoyed that I asked. She said yes, but I felt like I was an enormous inconvenience to her, even though I’m quiet and compact. I even silenced my phone out of consideration for her.

And the biggest rule should be about claiming tables. One Ought Not Claim a Table Until After She has Placed her Order. This is a small coffee shop, and electrical outlets are at a premium, so it’s really, really not cool when you walk in, see one free table, and put your messenger bag down, then get in line at the counter. I am referring directly to you, guy in the orange T-shirt, sitting by the door right now. I was the one ordering at the counter, making awkward, sweaty conversation with the owner. I turned around with my iced coffee, saw the bag on the table that I had my eye on and rightly deserved, and was so flustered (possibly also from the social interaction) that I accidentally poured a little bit of coffee into my pocketbook, and that’s not good for anyone.

I can’t come up with any more rules right now, but I welcome contributions, and maybe we can also commission illustrations. But another coffee shop-related tidbit is that FUN FACT, I am obsessed with the idea of previous incarnations of older buildings. I think it should be a requirement that every tenant or owner of a house, apartment, or place of business has to fill out a log about their life at that place, with photos. It annoys me to end that I have lived in a ca. 1915 and ca. 1945 apartment (currently) and there is no history available. But last night, I happened upon a site that catalogs old and new photos of Atlanta addresses, and it had a photo of Dr. Bombay’s, then and now-ish. This excites me to no end. I am sitting in a dry cleaner! That dude is standing right outside the window where Orange Shirt Seat Stealer is sitting! My dream of Histories of Everything ever is closer to a reality!

And thus concludes my post in which I abuse capital letters and justify it because I have an English degree.

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