In the beginning of June the guy who owns that new coffee shop, his name is Josh I think, created the coffee shop. And the shop was without coffee, and void; and darkness was upon the shop, because Josh insisted on wiring the lights himself despite not knowing what he was doing. And Josh said, Let there be overpriced coffee: and there was overpriced coffee. And Josh saw the overpriced coffee, that it was good for profit margins: and Josh divided the overpriced coffee from the other coffee. And Josh called the overpriced coffee House Blend, and the other coffee he called That Crap Tim Hortons Serves.
And Josh said, Let there be a stage in the midst of the tables, and let it divide the tables from the tables. And Josh made the stage, and divided the tables which were under the stage from the tables which were above the stage: and it was so. And it sucked, because it cut off the tables under the stage from the washrooms, and if the stage was in use you couldn’t go to the washroom without looking like an asshole.
And Josh said, Let the House Blend be gathered together unto one place, and let the cappuccino machine appear: and it was so. And the gathering together of the House Blend Josh called the Bar: and Josh saw that it was serviceable, albeit cramped. And Josh said, Let the Bar bring forth baristas, and let the baristas be the arrogant kind who look down on your taste in coffee, then wonder why the tip jar is empty and fret about paying off their philosophy doctorate. And baristas of that kind were brought forth, and Josh thought that it was good, because Josh did not understand the importance of customer service.
And Josh created two manager positions; the greater manager to rule the day, and the lesser manager to rule the night: he made the associate manager positions also. And Josh set them in the back office to give condescending dismissals to complaints, And to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light of the day shift from the darkness of the night shift: and Josh saw that it was good. And Josh created poetry slam night, and open mic night, and post-modern art show night, and every other kind of themed night Josh could imagine: and Josh saw that it was pretentious. And Josh blessed them, saying, be fruitful, and fill the shop with people who will pay any price for House Blend so long as I tell them it’s fair trade coffee from Ethiopia, and bring forth writers for local art magazines that only three people read, so that I may post their reviews on the walls and look sophisticated.
And Josh said, Let us make the customers in our image, after our likeness, because only douchebags like Josh would frequent a place like this: and let them have dominion over the tables, and over the washrooms, and over the free Wi-Fi, assuming they don’t just buy a small decaf and use it as an excuse to sit by the fireplace for five hours. And Josh blessed them and said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply your pompous poetry and mediocre Bon Iver covers, and replenish my bank account.
And Josh said, Behold, I have given you several kinds of passable baked goods, and every kind of hippy organic fruit you can get in this city; to you it shall be meat. And to every customer of the coffee shop, and to every hobo that picks through the trash of the coffee shop, I have given every baked good and organic fruit for meat at a somewhat unreasonable price: and it was so. And Josh saw everything he had made, and, behold, it was alright I guess, but it doesn’t stand out from any of the dozen other coffee shops in the neighbourhood.