Hey man, Ron sent me (Hippy faker), Ron says, “Hey!”(Why can’t Ron say hey himself?), Ron told me this is where it is happening (totally lame), I’m Ron’s friend…he says, “Hello.” (So.), Ron told me this was one place I had to stop in at while I’m in town. (Shit, can I be the biggest dork here?)
Searching for my inner coolness, I drop the rehearsed Ron intro and just order a 20 oz latte…clean and simple. I even dropped my normal “with two sweet-n-low” because I didn’t want to seem like a Starbuck’s weekday’r and a cool, hippie coffee café poser weekend'r.
The Hard Core Café is located outside of Sebastopol, California on Highway 116. This little haven was a much needed Saturday stop after a soul-sucking week at the daily grind in Northern California where I display a fast, flexible and focused façade of feeling 100% fabulous!
Each morning was a small respite to my day as I was greeted by Ron during my DoubleTree Hotel breakfast dining experience. I liked him instantly. He made goofy faces to the kids, had long wild hair tucked in the back of his shirt and instantly won my heart as he placed small bits of liberalism on a dainty hook to see if I would bite. Oh and I did! Sneaking secret squats next to my table we swapped stories. I find out a number of nuggets about Ron that keep me engaged throughout the week. Each morning he would ask, have you gone to Hard Core yet? I would reply maybe tomorrow. He said the morning is when you will hear the radical rants and hip-deep musings of the county’s best.
I decided to stay an extra day to recover from my week. I had plans to hang out with a friend, but he dumped me (this would be the second and last time!) for another woman. I hop on down to see Ron before I go...he warns, you have until 11:00 am to go to Hard Core before you miss the “crowd.” He insists I tell them Ron sent me and that I seek out Jim or Turby for good conversation.
So, there I am…parking at the much anticipated Hard Core Café! I knew it was going to be good when my first experience was a mini-honking war between me and a cute, bearded fellow. I accidentally honk as I’m getting out, he then honks, then I lock my car which gives a mini-honk, he honks again, then another guy warns me to watch it or I would start something…so I sassily beep my alarm and get the last honk in. He just smiles.
So, I didn’t drop Ron’s name during my order, but I did plop down in the middle of some folks with my journal putting on my cool, calm and collected character of coolness. I browsed the paper, sipped my coffee in the eclectic outdoor café. Sitting on an old diner booth amongst a dental chair, a folding chair, a giant wooden spool all scattered under a plastic awning, I was surprised at the warmth of the people. I even had a gentleman from Chicago tell me he would post my bio there to hook me up with someone interesting.
Although I didn't hear radical rants or find Jim or Turby, Ron was right, this was a place where anyone could have good conversation with open-minded people over a hot cup of joe.
By the way Mr. Chicago, I'm 5'3", like folk music, artistic, love a bit of radical ranting and sometimes I like to get the last honk in.
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