I sometimes miss going to the Sweet Donkey Coffee Shop, the little cafe in Roanoke, VA where I used to spend a few hours working on my laptop practically every day – until a day around this time last year, when I was told I was no longer welcome there because I was unwilling to stop showing my face – i.e., to perform the sickening ritual affirming the hideous lie that has turned the country half crazy – and the other half angry for objecting to being pressured to pretend they share in the crazy, by looking just like the crazies.
But I am no longer missing the money I used to spend at the Donk, every day.
Each day I went there, I generally got at least one cup of coffee – which cost an astounding-in-retrospect $3 per. Plus tax, as Elvis once said. Refills were another buck and I almost always got at least one of those, too. Plus usually a cookie, on account of it being very hard for me to resist those, especially when I am trying to write – the cookie’s cost justified to myself as necessary cost of doing business and the cookie itself my Pavlovian reward for getting it done.
The cookies cost about $3 each, too – which seems (which is) expensive, no matter how “artisanal” but as anyone who has a sweet tooth knows, it is very hard to think about the price of a cookie when you just want that cookie . . . and there it is. Plus, they were really good cookies – and so was the coffee. I genuinely enjoyed both as well as being there. And then – just like that – I no longer was.
And neither was my money.
One $3 cup of coffee per day plus a refill and perhaps a cookie every other day averages out to about $5 per day I was spending at the Donk. Plus the tip I always put in the jar, because I liked the people working there and appreciated their work as well as them, personally. The total I spent per day at the Donk was at least $5-6 per day and probably more but for the sake of some rough math, I’ll say $5.
I generally spent a few hours there every day, six days each week. Sometimes, seven. It was part of my ritual; the way I made myself get down to business every day. It is hard to play hookie when you’re seated at a table, laptop open – and just spent $6 for a cup coffee and a cookie, which you just rationalized doing by telling yourself that now you were going to sing for your supper.
Anyhow, I recently added up what I haven’t been spending at the Donk since last summer.
Six (days) times five (dollars) equals $30 dollars per week, not counting tips, which I always gave – often generously, especially as Sickness Psychosis descended and – in the first stages thereof – I was sometimes the only person at the Donk giving tips because almost no one else was willing to transgress The Coonman’s (Virginia Governor Ralph Northam’s) “lockdowns,” forbidding the “nonessential” – i.e., not himself and other essential government “workers” from even leaving their homes, except for necessities – which didn’t include coffee and cookies.
Thirty (dollars) per week times four (weeks in a month) comes to $120 each month I was spending at the Donk – not counting what I put in the tip jar every day I went there. Over the course of one year, that amounts to an incredible-in-retrospect $1,440 I was spending on coffee, cookies and camaraderie each year at the Sweet Donkey coffee shop. For several years, following my divorce – when I developed the habit to keep myself on the rails.
Well, I haven’t spent a cent on Sweet Donkey coffee, cookies or tips since last summer – and that has made paying what are styled “my” property taxes a lot easier this summer. Instead of going up, they have gone down – effectively, if not formally – because I am paying a lot less for coffee and cookies now.
I’ve been saving a lot of money by making coffee at home – and eating home-made cookies, even more “artisanal” but a whole lot cheaper. And in no small measure, I have been tipping myself every day – by no longer tipping the people who work at the Donk. If they still work at the Donk..
My small withdrawal may not have cost the Donk that much in the overall scheme of things; the owners probably more than recouped it via Uncle, to whom they appealed for six figures in “stimulus” – provided by people who didn’t even get a cup of coffee in return for it.
But it has saved me enormously.
And not just the money. It didn’t cost me my self respect to continue spending money at the Donk, where coffee was no longer served to people like me who refused to participate in Mask Psychosis. I walked out of there, forever, my head held high, my face showing – and my dignity intact.
And now I’m the richer for it, literally.
The best revenge is living well, goes the saying. And indeed, it is.
. . .
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