Since I’ve been sitting on the sofa resting for the past four days, I’m a bit stir-crazy. So today Denis dropped me to the door of a coffee shop in Dublin and I can get back to my “coffee-shop writing”. He was going to Maplins, his craft shop, so I’m nearby on Abbey Street at 3fe. Strange name for a coffee shop? It stands for third floor espresso. There’s a story….
(Big lizard outside Berlin aquarium)
This guy, Steve, used to work in banking or the stock market or something and he gave it all up to become a world-class barista. True story… He set up a training room in his apartment (on third floor) and within a year he had entered the world barrister finals in the US and had come in a respectable fourth. Now he sells coffee in different ways using very geeky gadgets. He and his team also sell very nice sandwiches and very yummy muffins.
But it was the story that got me to have coffee here. Well of course it did, he gave up everything to do the thing he wanted to do? I’m in. Now that I’m here I’m ready to notice what’s different about this coffee shop? And it is different. It’s not squeaky clean, the colours are very bright, the shelves are like granny’s kitchen, not completely square, not exactly fitting and not plastic.
(Close-up of zebra stripes)
So that means it’s not exactly perfect either. Surprise, surprise. If it didn’t have a story I wouldn’t be here. Stories are really attractive to us and they are also really useful. The stories that lulled us to sleep as children. The stories we watched at the cinema or on the TV. The stories we believe about ourselves.
What do you believe about you? Mairead.