Roasted Aromas
As Ben got to the door, he checked the direction of the wind, opening the opposite door so anyone sitting near the entrance wouldn’t get a gust of autumn. The opposing smells of the variety of coffee immediately hit his nostrils, and the regulars were in their normal locations.
Some of the original regulars from Buckets of Stars had also found Roasted Aromas, but unlike Buckets, there was usually ample seating and tables available. Ben always wondered if this was a good thing or signaled his eventual need to find a new “escape.”
The decor of Roasted Aromas looked like a thrift store vomited through the windows when they were decorating the coffee shop. Ben was used to the chain coffee shops that did their best to create a consistent atmosphere, or at least have similar furniture and aesthetics from shop to shop. Roasted, on the other hand, went the “We’ll put anything in here for people to sit on, relax, or get together” vibe.
In one corner was a giant, bean bag chair able to hold three people. Maybe more could fit, but that was the most Ben ever saw nestled in it, doing their best not to spill anything. Along the wall were workstations for customers who wanted a little privacy. The workstations had a standard desk area and barrier walls on each side, but that is where the similarities ended. One was made with a black, mahogany finish, the adjacent station had cheap plastic everywhere that reminded Ben of a voting booth contraption, while next to them was a workstation that had more of a grade school desk feel. Two more workstations filled the rest of the wall. One was extra fancy as you could turn it into a standing workstation if you struggled hard enough to pull it to standing level, and the one on the end was missing the barrier wall.
In the area near the door was a couch that you would expect to find in any apartment rented by college kids, the type where the style didn’t matter, and you would nearly sink to the floor when you plopped in it as any sense of support had long disappeared. Any spills would blend right into the design that could be described as “Grandma’s curtains from the 1950’s.”
A variety of benches lined the other wall. Some were metal frames with a wood top, others were picnic style benches, and then there were the special, box benches with outlets, prized spots if you planned to be at the coffee shop all day. The benches were painted bright red in a manner that had hints of trying to be something artistic. You could see that whomever painted them took great care to do an adequate job at the beginning, but as you followed along the wall, the paint job for the next bench would get a little less precise. The bench boxes further along the wall had green colors bleeding through the red from what was the original woodwork. A shiny black was mixed with the red on the metal frames, and one of the legs of the picnic benches hadn’t been painted at all.
The back of the coffee shop was generally open to everyone, but the owners of Roasted Aromas set it up to be an event space hoping that people might have their wedding receptions or other gatherings in it. Rather than tables and chairs, however, the area was filled with picnic tables. The picnic tables looked to be stolen from a park, weathered and rickety, while the accompanying benches seemed barely stable enough to hold the patrons who sat on them.
There wasn’t any inclination of an attempt to have the picnic benches fit any decor as the walls in the event space were painted the same light, tan color as the rest of the coffee shop. Ben always thought the owners should try to create an atmosphere of a park in the event space, especially since they already had the picnic tables. He imagined they would add some murals of a scenic park on the walls, with grand, oak trees stretching to the ceiling, even putting fake grass on the floor for an added effect mixed with lighting that would mimic the sun or the moon. Every now and then, Ben would think that he should mention his grandiose plan to Jimmy and Emily, the owners, but his insecurities of feeling stupid would creep back in the minute he considered suggesting it.