Oh. It’s you.

Welcome to Cafe Awful, where folks like to pass the time with a stale cup of coffee and a nice chat about how terrible existence is. Have a seat. Careful, though—that table wobbles. And the lumbar support in these chairs is…not great. But what did you expect, really?

Listen, it’s a fine line between cathartic self-expression and blatant whinging, and I like to think we toe that line quite successfully here. We don’t complain; we purge our frustrations. It’s healthy, really. You can’t keep things bottled up. That’s how you get ulcers. And wrinkles. And the mysterious ennui.

Admittedly, people come in here pretty often convinced that life is awful, only to realize that they’re just hungry, and half a sandwich of dry tuna on soggy bread sets them up nicely. As for the others, the regulars…well, they’re just speaking the truth. Politics is awful. Traffic was a nightmare. Their new haircut does make them look like Boris Johnson. Life is awful. That’s just the way it is. No use fighting it or trying to buck up or whatever nonsense those horrible life coaches post on Instagram. Sure salmon swim upstream, but they’re one of only like three fish that do that. It’s not inspiring. They’re just showing off. What I’m saying is don’t resist the gruesomeness of existence; just wring yourself out for a moment before you move on to the next awful thing.

Take me, for example. Last night while I was here late cleaning up, I found extensive water damage and mold in the basement because the bathroom sink has been leaking for six months despite having four different plumbers out here to fix the problem. But did I complain? No. I just kicked the fireplace, broke a chair over the cash register, and shouted for a good three minutes straight, and I felt much better. Went upstairs to have a poor night’s sleep on a lumpy mattress before doing it all again this morning.

See, that’s why people keep coming back here—because our strategy works. Even in this lousy economy, we’re keeping our heads above water (barely) because we offer a service to the community. We’re a realist’s sanctuary, a safe haven against the Positivity Brigade that keeps threatening to shut us down. “Life isn’t so bad!” they chirp every time they skip in here—and they always skip—determined to “cheer us up.” Spare me. They feel it’s their sacred duty to spread sunshine to every person they come across whether they want it or not, but you know what? My second cousin has a sun allergy, so.

They are not to be deterred, however. One time they brought balloons and cupcakes—but only once, because the rats were on them before they made it through the door. One of them said she actually preferred her coffee stale, though she couldn’t quite stomach it after a spider lowered down from one of the rafters and drowned itself in her mug. One of them offered to even out my table legs. Eventually she gave up, claiming with a hint of hysteria in her voice that the floor must be unlevel. She’s a regular now. Comes in every Tuesday evening for a damp scone and tea with lightly curdled cream.

Really, we’re providing a valuable public service here, and I wish people would quit trying to meddle. That said, I encourage anyone who’s interested to stop by. Even if you think your life is pretty good overall and you’re just in a funk but can’t figure out why, come on down. We’ll give you something to sigh about. Not in a threatening way or anything. We’ll just remind you of what you already know: the sun’s too bright, the rent’s too high, and the coffee…is always…stale.