Coffee Break

I'm sitting at work, waiting for my coffee.

My boss is a tea drinker, and there isn't a coffee maker in the shop kitchen to take care of my afternoon cup of java. It isn't so much for the caffeine; it is more a ten-minute gift of repose and refreshment that I give to myself. Alright, I'll admit it--on SOME days, it's for the caffeine!

Fortunately for me, the Landmark Cafe is up the street. Along with usual pub grub and the best gumbo in town, they serve alligator meat po boys. I haven't tried one yet, but they're supposed to be good. The last time I ate there, I asked the waiter what alligator tastes like. He paused, lost in thought. I chuckled, and said, "Like chicken, right?" His expression dissipated into one of perplexity as his brow furrowed. "Why, no, Ma'am, it tastes like alligator."

I've gotten to know the proprietors, and they very kindly send someone to walk 2 blocks to bring me coffee on days when I'm working alone at the Herb Shop and can't get away.

Free with the coffee is conversation: "How's the little one doing? Has business at the shop been bad with Miss Vicki on vacation? You know some of the older folks like her better than you, no offense. Did Mr. John get that pothole in the driveway fixed alright?" I like this more than "Bad weather we're having", "Have a nice day", and the other usual impersonal niceties and pause-fillers people in larger towns tend to exchange.

The Landmark isn't really a Cafe with a capital 'C'. It looks almost like someplace you'd see in a late 19th century frontier town. The walls are decorated with photos of Lucedale around the turn of the century (town was founded in 1901) and memorabilia from varous ranches run by the extended family through whom the cafe ownership has been passed down. On the ceiling are fishing nets filled with glass bobbers, seashells, dried sea urchins, and a few taxidermied young alligators. I've never quite figured out the logic behind this juxtaposition. Maybe I've been too influenced by the modern world of advertising, suggesting that there has to be a unified "theme" to everything. Perhaps the odds and ends just tell a family story.

They don't do lattes in Lucedale--or capuccinos, or espressos, or even gourmet coffees. The Landmark just makes it "reg'lar", and I take it black, which makes it easy. And I'll be forever grateful that, after a long, hard day on my feet, the owner of the Landmark walks two blocks in the rain to bring me a cup.