Little Big Guy Coffee

Little Big Guy Coffee

wpid-20140310_121341.jpgThis weekend I visited a new coffee shop on Lakeshore West, New Toronto to be specific. It was suggested to me a month or so ago by a local business owner who was adamant the coffee shop was a “super friendly”, “really nice” and “the best on Lakeshore West”. I didn’t want to argue, I have my bias, and instead made a mental note to check it out…one day.

I’ve driven by it a few times on my way to work. I’d slow down and peer towards the store in an effort to distinguish from my driver’s seat whether it was worthy of a “stop-and-see”. To be honest, it never looked open.

I decided this weekend was as good as any time to try it out and instead of turning right onto Lakeshore, I turned left.

As I walk towards the store it continued to look closed with the exception of the two jolly ladies sitting on chairs on the sidewalk directly in front of the shop. There are two doors to this coffee shop, one is for decoration, and the other is the actual door. Unlike regular doors of stores, this one had a door knob at the same level as my ears (or so it seemed) with a little sign above that says “pull”.

I pulled, the door opened and there I was standing inside the coffee shop. The room isn’t very big. There are 2 or 3 mismatched tables with mismatched chairs. Halfway along the left wall is a doorway that leads to the second side of the shop, the side that belongs to the door that isn’t meant to be opened.

Along the back of the first side of the shop is the coffee bar. Not one that you might expect, a low counter that crosses the width of the shop with nothing to distinguish it from a regular counter in a kitchen. It reminds me of a table at a fair where people showcase their goods.

Behind the bar is a large man. He is friendly just like the lady said he’d be. I ordered a “mostly-dark-roast” coffee and crossed to the second room to the left. There are more tables and chairs in this room.

An old drafting table with an array of counter and bar height chairs, a long interesting wooden table from an 18th century pub house (not really), including a bench that ran the length of the table, some leather chairs and regular height tables and more mismatched chairs.

The small metal encased radio sits on a corner shelf that is filled with books, pens, pencils and paper. Some of the pencils are loose, rolling around the floor. I’ve arrived in someone’s kitchen in an old farm house where I can put my feet up, fart and just be. The atmosphere is welcoming for sure with the 1980’s radio was blaring out 1980’s tunes, it’s antenna reaching for the ceiling.

The shop has a musty smell, a mix of old deodorant, unwashed hair and dirt stuck to the base boards. It may be the two older gentle men sitting at the front who are busy banging on the window, making faces and hand gestures to the women sitting outside, I can’t be sure.

Friendly, cosy, smelly, delicious coffee.

With a some cleaning TLC, a fresh coat of paint, an update to the entrance, a coffee bar that isn’t so confusing, I could then call it a hidden intimate gem, good for farting around 🙂

The Case of the Man and his missing pants

I am sitting on a bench waiting. There are three strangers sharing my bench. They are reminding me a little of college; overwhelmingly smelling like bounce dryer sheets, homegrown weed and cigarettes. Imagine all three scents having a party in your nose and then you’ll likely stop using a combination of the three. Your choice.

Which reminds me, I am not a smoker but I invited my friend over to visit me this evening under the stipulation that there is a Vogue pack of menthol cigarettes to be shared. Am I being serious or I have I gone mad?

Well see, I have simply gone mad.

Today a friend suggested meeting up to enjoy some sunshine and do some catching up. The cherry on the top was that I was going to show off my coffee shop where everything happens. And I mean everything. Some days I just don’t post simply because it’s too unbelievable.

In any event I was so proud to show off how my account worked seamlessly. Trust me, showing off my account is a huge highlight in my otherwise monotonous life.

Coffee’s in hand we agreed to stroll along part of the Lakeshore path that when I am alone I simply avoid. I know there is some weird sh*t that happens along this particular portion of the path but with a walking mate it seemed reasonable that we’d be mostly safe.

Well we were anything but safe.

We happened upon a small commune and out of the commune came the event that has completely sent me into crazy land.

It was a beast I say, a mad beast. It emerged from the bushes, bearded, arms flailing, a look of crazy (I know I used this word already) on his face, wearing a light brown shirt, pant-less with his treasured hairy balls peeking out just below the shirt. They were misshapened and one was sagging slightly lower than the other.

He was yelling;

“Women are running around downtown Toronto topless, showing their titties, they are running around without shirts and bra’s – I am just exercising my right as a man, SEEEEEEE!!!! I am ALLOWED!!!! I am ALLOWED!!!!”

As he did a little dance and jiggle.

I averted my eyes but not in time to have the memory of his hairy, sweaty things hanging in our faces to be seared into my mind….forever…

To all the women who have been spotted?!?! wandering up and down Yonge street exercising their legal right to go bare chested in the mid-day heat, please stop before someone gets hurt!

I need another cigarette…