Where: Coffee Time712 Northwest 21st Avenue
Highlights: Pictures of birds and artwork
Graffiti Affirmations
Problems: Nearly everything else... oh, but does contain toilet paper and paper towels.
"Tell me, muse, of the storyteller who has been thrust to the edge of the world, both an infant and an ancient, and through him reveal everyman" Wings of Desire
If the communist cafe is hope for change in the future, Coffee Time is Portland's dark, desperate side struggling not to tumble into that great cosmic toilet bowl and lose itself in the swampy darkness beneath. During the day, the coffee shop might live up to it's website's sunny promotional image of a calm, jazzy coffee shop. In the night, however, a heaviness seeps through the walls smelling of stories of all the lonely, unhappy people who've frequented the place in the last 14 years.
Every place tells a story. In the darker winter hours you can feel the story of this place: a story of the forgotten individual buried inside a mirage. I sat drinking my chai and a bearded man stood in the hallway performing a personal ritual. "What's up, what's up, what's up, what's up!" he chanted, sticking his chest out and flashing his hands in front of his face like sparks, manipulating the energy in his brain. His wild eyes looked at me and he let out a low hiss, "Wazzzzup!"
I thought of Hairboy- the first kid in the country to get an emo haircut, who collected girls' phone numbers in his tip jar and Sean, the punk with a pixie haircut and women's jeans, who despite the desperate gay men hovering on his every word still affirmed his heterosexuality- and saw the hipsters of today, confused kids from around the country trying a new vision of themselves in the image of what those boys left behind. I thought of the lonely old men wearing fedoras and paige boy caps to look artsy, in search of companionship and a warm room where they don't have to drink their coffee alone.
I thought of Charlie. Charlie lost his best friend several years ago to a medical accident and fell apart. Champion chess players, they'd bonded in friendly competition over the game. For weeks after the death I saw Charlie sitting in front of Coffee Time surrounded by young men, playing chess. The last time I saw him he sat alone, his body surrounded in darkness. He looked up as I passed and the cafe's outdoor lights caught the hazy glint of his eyes which, showing no recognition, looked away. I realized that he had turned into the lost old men: the same men that had cut their hair in emo haircuts before it was popular, and the same men that would one day exclaim at the magic in their heads.
I forced myself to use the bathroom despite it's lack of cleanliness and read the grafiti. Someone had etched into the mirror, "forgive yourself", and above the mirror in black paint "get clean or die trying." Messages to save a new lost generation on the verge of drowning in a wasted life. When I exited the bathroom the bearded man took the key from me. "Thank you," he said, his voice articulate and polite.
Score: Honestly, I had trouble talking myself into using this toilet. I went to see a movie after drinking my chai and used the toilet at the theater instead. When I returned to Coffee Time to take pictures of the offending bathroom I still had to pee so... I used the toilet.
You can't really get a full sense of a bathroom until you use the toilet. I noticed the paintings of birds, the messages etched into the wall like "inspiration," and the sign telling you not to flush anything but ordinary toilet waste down the drain not including things like "babies" or "your shoes."
This toilet is definitely one of the worst toilets I've used recently. It etches out the Powell's toilet for both creepiness and grossness because it's unisex. They used to have one of those towels that you pull down for the clean side to dry your hands and I was pleased to notice that at least they've added paper towels. The sense that several people use the bathroom for drugs overwhelms the place but at least there's toilet paper. It could be worse right?
Grade: D
