Canadian Color – The unmeasureable hipness of Habit Coffee

I sat in Bubby Roses Bakery Cafe this morning and chowed down on a spectacular serving of Challah French Toast – a half-order in fact. Baker-owner and Socratic master, Mark Engels and I mused… “I wonder what the average age of your clientele is?”
I continued, “I figure there is a big block of kids in their mid-twenties… a gap… lots of 50-somethings and then those over 60s-young and beyond…”
Mark injects, “I wish I knew that information…”
Truth is, there are some remarkable looking young people that hang out at Bubby’s on Saturday morning. A young lady in particular stands out – she has the face of a child and is obviously in her twenties – her buff stud dude has biceps twice the size of my legs and they cuddle in the warm October Sun. They are a picture of youthful and unspoiled purity – at least on some perverse level…

Flash forward a few hours. If Bubby Roses is the sanctuary to youthful maidens with gorilla sized gentle giant boyfriends, Habit Coffee and Culture is a missing chapter out of a modernized Hunter S. Thompson novel. Habit Coffee and Culture oozes an impossibly rich sap of hipness and has caffeinated beverages brewed to heighten already jaded slackers to unheard levels of awesomeness.

As a reasonably jaded 40 something on the eve of my 5th decade on Planet Earth, I watch with muted amusement the funky social dance performed by these naive critters of the Z and Millennial generations. We are on the leading edge of an economic crash – where we will pass from an era of excess and endless employment opportunity – where a slacker job (high paid) incorporates chill time, face book time, spa time and, well, simply not showing up for work if they do not feel like it… and like whaddya gonna do about it anyway?!?

The Z’s and Millennial`s fail to realize that once this current bubble bursts, they will be ill equipped to deal with the realities that us 30-somethings and 40-somethings survived so well 10, 15 and 20 years ago.

I laugh. Ha. Ha.

Kids these days remind me of growing up on the farm in the 70’s and eying giddy fatted and rambunctious lambs gamboling from one stump to another…
moments prior to the slaughter. They have no idea. None.

Pass the mint jelly.