Starbucks is a modern prison of loneliness

I love the Internet. And even more than I love the Internet, I love wireless Internet.

No longer are there boundaries to where or when I can write, “do homework” or watch kittens fall asleep and tumble off of couches.

Of the few things that rival my love of Wi-Fi, coffee and conversation easily come to mind. Coffee shops were the retail pioneers of Wi-Fi, using the lure of Internet access to attract a clientele that might otherwise simply post up at a library or on a park bench; Starbucks now offers free Wi-Fi at every one of its establishments.

In fact, as I write this I am seated near the back window of one such establishment. All around me there is the wafting smell of espresso, the calming sound of a cappuccino steamer, a strong Wi-Fi signal and plenty of people to talk to. Heaven!

But not long after beginning to write this article, I noticed two phenomena universal to any Wi-Fi-bearing coffee shop. Firstly, I found that I had gone literally hours without interacting with another person. I had been typing furiously, head-down, completely unaware of my surroundings. All around me computer cables criss-crossed and intersected along the floor like a rubberized patchwork, leading to neighbouring tabletops similarly covered in books, laptops and blank, unflinching stares. No one was talking, no one was moving and apart from this brief period of lucidity, none of us seemed even remotely aware of one another.

The second thing I noticed was that over the course of my stay — just over four hours — I had bought one large cappuccino (yes, large, not some silly pseudo-Latin name) and one scone. That averages out to a total of about $1.30 per hour, and contributes to a fairly significant drain on the bottom line. Bearing in mind that I was taking up an entire table, it was about this time that I began to feel like the free-loading turd I secretly already knew I was.

If a coffeeshop only has 75 seats —half of which are taken up four hours at a time by a person nursing a single cup of coffee and, perhaps, a pastry — other customers might simply elect to go elsewhere, where seating is more ample and the ambience does not consist of zombies in sweat pants feverishly flipping through troves of Kafka.

On the other hand, having Wi-Fi in coffee shops does allow people to make connections in the broader world: they might not make friends with the person at the next table, but they’ll check in with their Facebook friends and write brilliant, paradigm shattering articles like this.

But perhaps a better solution would be to limit Internet use at peak hours (like evenings and weekends), or to designate certain areas “Internet zones,” much like smoking areas.

Coffee shops are meant to have a unique, cozy and intimate feel to them. They tow a curious line between business and public meeting point and are a place for acquaintances to meet and mingle or for almost-strangers to bat their eyes at one another.

But wireless Internet detracts from this social, friendly ambience. Instead, it prompts customers — like myself — to treat the space like a vanilla-infused office cubicle, letting their single java “cool off” for hours at a time and shutting themselves off from the outside world with headphones and towers of tattered textbooks.

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image: Marco Abis