In 1997, I moved from the Connecticut shore to the Gulf Coast of Florida. By chance, I landed a job in accounts receivable, collecting money for a firm that sold technical training to large corporations. Often, invoices lacked purchase order numbers or were routed to the wrong department. I was very good at figuring out how to get invoices paid. After about four months, I realized sales had more upside than collections. This realization started an 18-year career in technology sales, with the last 10 years spent at a major software publisher.
As I neared my 50th birthday, I realized my career had peaked at my current company. Not wanting to start over somewhere else, I decided to buy a coffee shop. Naively, I thought I could grow my brand to multiple locations in three years and sell it. Every one of my assumptions was wrong. In three years, I expanded to two locations and closed one during COVID. With my aspirations of creating a world-dominating coffee chain satisfied, I decided to enjoy operating a single location.
I enjoy tweaking the décor in the shop. In Part 1, I mentioned how I have all my books, my radio collection, my plants, and my typewriters there. Over the next week, I will indulge my love of maps by hanging a wooden cutout of the world. I am going to include a legend highlighting the coffee-growing regions of the world. Above the map, I have clocks showing the time in Los Angeles, Fort Lauderdale, London, and Tokyo. Other elements will become part of the décor, but no spoilers right now.
As much as I love all the knickknacks in the shop, the people who come here every single day are far more interesting than the items on my shelves. Years ago, I learned a valuable lesson about people from an unhoused man named Richard. It's one of those lessons we all know, but until we see it played out, it can be difficult to hold on to.
Another unhoused man approached Richard and began showing him a collection of photographs he had pulled from a dumpster. He was weaving a tragic story, using the photos as props. The story was the prelude to a request for money. Richard knew what was coming, and before the man could ask, he looked him straight in the eye and said, "We all have a story, buddy."
I don't think about this all the time, but occasionally I will look at someone I see every morning and remember: they have a story, and my coffee shop is part of it.