Out of Love of this Place

 There’s this strange, makeshift garden/plaza stuck on an over-sized median between Market Street and 30^th Street Station. Huge potted plants, patches of plastic grass with lawn chairs, and bench swings decorate the mini park. Spindly metal chairs and tables provide space for a quick lunch in a semi-green environment.

Around 1:00pm on a Wednesday, most of the chairs were empty. One man sat with take-out Chinese, putting up with the chill in a navy windbreaker. He was about finished with his chicken and rice and “fried fish of some sort,”; it was all just okay.

The man (he preferred that I not use his first name) works for a corporation in an office building behind the train station. He usually eats lunch outdoors and finds himself often alone. “My coworkers eat lunch at their desk,” he said, “which I would never do in my life.”

He’s Italian and has lived in the States for about four years. He finds the lunch culture here different. “There’s no social dynamic at lunch,” he said, shaking his head and leaning forward. “Which for me is the most important part.” In Milan, he would go out with coworkers in the middle of the day. Lunch was an opportunity to take a break, to ‘recharge your batteries.’ “Here, it’s like people filling their cars at the gas station.”

He looks at the buildings around us. “And now the arts,” he says, “They’re looked at as unproductive.” He gestures to 30^th street station’s staggering pillars and intricate façade behind us. “This building makes you happy to look at,” he says. “And this,” he points to the modern, stark office building to his left, “is what you have now. Which is horrible.” He mentions the windowless break room in the office. “It depresses me.”

He suspects that lunch culture is a product of American work culture. In Italy, working for the same corporation, he had seven weeks vacation. Here, many of his coworkers don’t even take breaks, a choice resulting from pressure that he sees as a detriment to productivity. “When we are in front of a screen for ten hours, it is against our nature,” he said, “If you’re tired and stressed, you get nothing done.” Our corporate work culture is dividend derived, a short-sided perspective that causes stressful, work-centric lifestyles.  “It was the opposite that made this country great country,” he said; innovation without a guarantee of return, risk, an attitude of rebellion and an ease of enjoying life, perhaps.

“What I’m saying is not to be negative,” he said, “It is out of love of this place.”

“People used to take breaks and siestas because they had common sense,” he said. “There has been a change in the last fifty years. Everyone is too busy, I can’t even have a casual conversation on the train.”

He likes to get outside, take a half hour to an hour and a half for lunch – depending on his mood and the weather. He often eats at the food trucks near Drexel to be around young people and have conversation. “I like to talk with people because people have ideas,” he said. He speaks fast, using his hands, soft brown eyes attentive. “If we both have one dollar and we exchange them, then we both have one dollar,” he said, “We both have an idea and we exchange them, then we both have two ideas.”

He invites me to join him for an espresso, something he would typically do with coworkers after lunch back home in Italy. He gets up from the table, wrapping up a small package of fried wontons and a fortune cookie, “My kids love these.”

At home his family – wife and three kids – is ‘rigid’ with food. They buy organic when possible, but again, here it is different. In Italy, there are laws banning GMOs and the use of certain pesticides. “Here you have to be educated to buy food,” he said. His wife is a good cook, “That’s how she got me I guess,” he said, smiling. The other night she made spaghetti with clams. Red sauce? He laughs and shakes his head brusquely, “No red sauce, I am from the north of Italy.”

He works to live, not vice versa. The time off he has, he spends with his family. They take trips to Center City and go to “mom and pop shops” for lunch.

“If there is one this that cannot be replaced it is time,” he says, “I tell you, you need to enjoy it. Five minutes that you spend with a person drinking coffee could be the most precious thing you have.”

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I recently received a wonderful and humorous email from above Italian man that I would liked to share (yes, I asked his permission). A little background: We did get espresso together at a small stand in 30th Street Station. We were served the drink in tiny paper cups, prompting me to make a comment about American disposable/to-go culture. We chatted about how uncommon that would be in Italy, and how much more enjoyable it really is to drink out of ceramic or glass. We spotted a few glass cups behind the counter and I suggested that he requested one next time. 
He did, and here's what happened: 

"I am writing you as, after the short conversation we had regarding paper cups and the "to go" culture, I decided I needed to take action - beginning from the espresso-kiosk where we had coffee. The day after our encounter I went to have my daily espresso and I asked the "barista" if I could have it in the small glass cup we saw. After a few seconds - apparently he had to process the unusual request - he asked why; I explained to him that I would enjoy my espresso much more in a glass cup than in a paper one. I always drink my coffee right there so no risk I would run away with it! I quickly realized I was the only one laughing at my joke. The original "barista" was joined by a second one in staring at me - together with an angry executive-looking customer who was obviously mad for this 15-second delay in receiving her order. Other five seconds of blank staring, and both "baristas" moved on with other customers after mumbling "No, no".  So far, Paper cups 1 – Me 0.

Second match took place at a Chick-fil-A. In case you wonder what I was doing there, it is part of a Machiavelian psychological plan to make my children avoid those places when they grow up. Indeed, forbidden things always generate desire in people, as such I bring them to fast foods about once a month just to make sure they don’t think it is some sort of amazing place that it is forbidden to them out of pure evil. This time I was with my youngest daughter. After the meal, I noticed in their menu the picture of a steaming coffee mug; while she was having fun in the playground, I ordered a coffee – in the ceramic mug of course. The girl at the counter had to summon the manager. This is the dialogue:

Manager: “Per safety policy, we can’t pour the coffee directly in your mug. You can pour it after we give it to you”.

Me: “I don’t have a coffee mug, I’ll use one of yours”.

Manager: “We don’t have coffee mugs!”

Me “You show one in the picture over there”

Manager “Oh no, no, that’s just a picture”

Me: “Well, then I think I will have to sue Chick-Fil-A. Ahahah”.

Once again, I was the only one laughing. Paper cups 2 – Me 0. I think for the moment I will call a truce and try to think about a new strategy."