Sierra Hensley English 104 s., 12: Composition Research Ritassida Mamadou Djiguimde ... ·...
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Sierra Hensley English 104 s., 12: Composition Research Ritassida Mamadou Djiguimde Wake Up And Smell The Cup Wake Up And Smell The Cup It is 1:48pm., on a frigid whirlwind of a Thursday in March. I took the long walk from my dorm to my favorite coffee shop, The Cup. As I swing open the doors, a rush of warm air and the smell of freshly made coffee engulfs my face. Behind me, outside, customers mingle with the bitter taste of coffee and the toxic burning of cigarette smoke drifting in the breeze. The closing door nudges me further into the shop, while the aroma of coffee and food tempt me to the counter. I notice a bench to the left of me and, instead, decide to sit and watch the customers flow in and out of the shop. Fragments of conversations, between the customers and employees at the counter, funnel into my ears. I smile at a few passersby and reluctantly stand to order myself a beverage. The long list of coffee combinations overwhelms my tired eyes, but on a whim I choose the first one I see on the list. The cashier, sly grin and steely eyes, hands me my change and swings around the corner to construct my chosen java. A few minutes later, long awaited, he slides me my coffee. I thank him and wish him a good day, as I walk down the ramp to the designated area for customers to sit. I single out a table pushed against the wall in the corner with two chairs with dark green cushions. I put my black backpack underneath the table, securing it between my legs so that those walking out of the bathroom behind my chair will not stumble over it as they exit. I set my cup down on the table’s surface to my left and lean down to retrieve my flimsy moleskin notebook and blue pen from my bag. I click the pen and begin observe the space. I take note of the diverse arrangement of local artwork scattered on all four walls around me. The artwork is energetic with a wide array of pigments and brush strokes; the majority of them are abstract.
Transcript of Sierra Hensley English 104 s., 12: Composition Research Ritassida Mamadou Djiguimde ... ·...
SierraHensleyEnglish104s.,12:CompositionResearchRitassidaMamadouDjiguimdeWakeUpAndSmellTheCup
WakeUpAndSmellTheCup
Itis1:48pm.,onafrigidwhirlwindofaThursdayinMarch.Itookthelong
walkfrommydormtomyfavoritecoffeeshop,TheCup.AsIswingopenthedoors,
arushofwarmairandthesmelloffreshlymadecoffeeengulfsmyface.Behindme,
outside,customersminglewiththebittertasteofcoffeeandthetoxicburningof
cigarettesmokedriftinginthebreeze.
Theclosingdoornudgesmefurtherintotheshop,whilethearomaofcoffee
andfoodtemptmetothecounter.Inoticeabenchtotheleftofmeand,instead,
decidetositandwatchthecustomersflowinandoutoftheshop.Fragmentsof
conversations,betweenthecustomersandemployeesatthecounter,funnelintomy
ears.Ismileatafewpassersbyandreluctantlystandtoordermyselfabeverage.
Thelonglistofcoffeecombinationsoverwhelmsmytiredeyes,butonawhimI
choosethefirstoneIseeonthelist.Thecashier,slygrinandsteelyeyes,handsme
mychangeandswingsaroundthecornertoconstructmychosenjava.Afew
minuteslater,longawaited,heslidesmemycoffee.Ithankhimandwishhimagood
day,asIwalkdowntheramptothedesignatedareaforcustomerstosit.
Isingleoutatablepushedagainstthewallinthecornerwithtwochairswith
darkgreencushions.Iputmyblackbackpackunderneaththetable,securingit
betweenmylegssothatthosewalkingoutofthebathroombehindmychairwillnot
stumbleoveritastheyexit.Isetmycupdownonthetable’ssurfacetomyleftand
leandowntoretrievemyflimsymoleskinnotebookandbluepenfrommybag.I
clickthepenandbeginobservethespace.Itakenoteofthediversearrangementof
localartworkscatteredonallfourwallsaroundme.Theartworkisenergeticwitha
widearrayofpigmentsandbrushstrokes;themajorityofthemareabstract.
Onceagain,Ichannelinonseveralconversationsfromcustomersseatedat
thetablesandbooths.Iintuitivelynoticefamilies,friends,andsignificantothersall
gatherheretoshareTheCup’sone-of-a-kindcoffeetaste.Continuingmysearching
gaze,Ilocateacustomersittingaloneatatabledirectlyunderthewindow.His
featuresenhancedbytheglowofsunlight,heappearsfocuswithaslightlyfurrowed
browandhandsquicklywritingsomethingIdonotknow.
Idistractmyeyesfromthepeopleandblindingsunshiningthroughthe
windowandbecomemesmerizedbyabrownceilingfanthatisturnedonlowspeed.
Withoutnoticing,Ibegintohearmusicplayingdistantly.Bythehastybeatsand
hazylyrics,itssoundcouldbecategorizedasanindieoralternativegenre.The
musicandcaffeineinmycoffeegivemearushofwarmthandenergy.Ifinishup,
disposeofmycoffeedraineddry,andstepoutintothecoolbreezeagain.
