A long love letter, in some fashion, to one of my favorite places in Knoxville

I used to work at the Panera in Bearden. There, I climbed the corporate ladder from washing dishes to (wo)manning the cash register. To most, this kind of promotion would seem desirable. For me, it was an adjustment, as I am slightly uneasy around people I don't know well.

It's sad, but my biggest source of social anxiety while working there came from seeing the same people over and over again, what you would call regulars. I'm bad with small talk, therefore when given two minutes to speak to someone on a regular basis that I don't know at all, well, let's just say it's not my cup of tea.

When I'd ask any one of them, "What side item would you like?" I was really thinking, "Why are you here all of the time? What goes on with you when you leave this place?" (and, "I hope you know how foolish I feel in this flare-encrusted Panera hat.")

I have a sister who worked at Starbucks for a while. She used to talk about how Starbucks aspires to be people's "third place," their first being home and their second being work. The "third place" functions to take one away from the stresses of the first and second place.

This idea has always intrigued me, being a regular or making some random place your home away from home. I was never able to imagine having a place like that, or even more so, needing a place like that.

***

Last Saturday, early in the evening, I was bored staying inside due to the slush on the ground, so I went down to Old City Java. I expected the place to be fairly empty, but when I walked in, the line almost reached the front door and patrons filled the seats. I decided to walk into the second room to find a seat while the line died down.

I saw a friend who pulled out his earphones and invited me to sit with him. We talked for a while, one of those unexpected conversations that flows smoothly and provides unforeseen encouragement.

I took in my surroundings as we talked: a boy with a guitar on the couch behind me, playing softly for a few minutes, across from our table, a smartly dressed couple sitting with a girl whose religious affiliation requires her to wear a head covering, a couple of cool looking dudes in the window playing backgammon, and on the other side of us, five or six attractive Spanish speaking students, having a discussion that, to me, sounded pretty intelligent.

I finally went back to the counter to find the guy working delicately make a leaf out of latte foam. I ordered a cafe au lait and he went on about what that meant and names of other drinks that are in different languages. I was happy for him to enthusiastically carry the conversation, as I nodded up and down in return.

I went back to my table where my friend had his earphones back in, reading his book. I pulled out my sketchbooks and accomplished more in 30 minutes than I could in a few days at home.

I finished my coffee with milk and gathered up my things. On my way out the door, another Java employee who was not currently working called me by name and wished me a good night.

As I walked to my car while evening set in, it dawned on me. It was the fourth time I had been to Java that week.

I may not be as regular as a regular, but I think I found my third place.


photo from Java's Facebook page

Old City Java
109 S. Central Ave.
Knoxville, TN, 37902