Five days into what seemed like an endless finals period, frustrated by the lack of open seats in the HFSC and developing one too many Lau-induced headaches, my friends and I decided to venture past the front gates. We made the pilgrimage to Tatte Cafe on Wisconsin Avenue, eager to discover a new atmosphere, and maybe a good breakfast sandwich too.

However, we quickly realized not everyone was as excited as we were about our off-campus discovery.

While waiting in line, we overheard one customer complain about the chic cafe’s transformation into a popular study spot. “This place is infested with college students and their laptops who sit here all day and ruin the neighborhood,” she said to the manager.

My initial reaction, admittedly, was anger. Why does this lady think she deserves to sit here any more than us?

As the study day marched on, I could not get her comments out of my consciousness, inspiring thoughts of what it meant to occupy the space. 

In truth, I have little sympathy that my prolonged stay may lead to a slight dip in Tatte’s profits. I am a paying customer after all. 

Instead, I empathize with other customers whose avocado toast-fueled dreams are crushed by all-day cafe dwellers occupying precious real estate. But how many overpriced lattes do we need to buy to prove ourselves worthy of a too-small table? 

While I don’t think we need to prove our worth to cafe chains or aggravated managers, we owe something to the people who, like us, are sharing the space. In my mind, there are clear study-space infringements: one person taking up a table meant for four, taking a loud call in an otherwise silent room, or hogging every outlet in the vicinity. But, beyond these guidelines, we must determine our own moral code. 

This struggle contributes to a larger project of developing so-called “third places.” These are places outside our homes (first place) and work or school (second place) where we can connect with others. Ideally, these locations are casual, social, and relationship-inducing. However, the requirement to buy a drink, often on the wrong side of five dollars, turns this sociology-backed need for community into another frustrating expense. Alarmingly, third places are becoming increasingly hard to come by, are often economically prohibitive, and generally seem to disincentivize interaction.

Perhaps the ideal third space is self-regulated. Instead of imposing time limits or minimum spending, inhabitants see people waiting table-less and sense it is their time to leave to invite in the fresh wave of clientele. But this may just undermine the entire idea in itself: a third space cannot be accessible up until the point that too many people want to access it. 

Another option is designated usage. Arguably, the conflict at Tatte was one of usage—studying versus eating, laptops versus lattes—but dedicating spaces just for studying, meeting new people, or playing games could avoid this issue. However, this returns to the problem of effectively buying our seats. In America’s third space desert, increased cost and regulation is a non-solution.

Increased funding for genuine public spaces—libraries, parks, and plazas–would undoubtedly be the ideal solution. Government investment instead of individual spending addresses these problems and takes the pressure off of overcrowded cafes and restaurants.

However, while we wait, the answer may be found in the very strangers we are fighting against. As we search for a seat, instead of seeing half-full tables as a violation of tightly-held beliefs about etiquette, we should see them as an opportunity to meet someone new. The purpose of a third space, after all, is to connect with our communities, not the same handful of friends we came with—we cannot utilize the concept while ignoring its intent. 

Sure, hours deep into homework you are probably not thinking about making a new friend. But meaningful interactions do not have to be long: smiling when you sit down, making eye contact, or complimenting someone can bring a quick burst of joy. 

Notably, for this to work, our interactions with strangers need to be more than just desperately asking, “Can I steal this table from you?” 

This can be difficult, but maybe we just need a bit more practice. If there is one thing my time working in retail taught me, the checkout process is a natural time for small talk. If approaching someone new is scary, try asking the barista a question with your order. Talk to classmates, friends of friends, and ultimately, strangers—small talk can boost happiness and a sense of belonging. 

There are also structural ways to support this community building. Large collaborative tables—the kind impossible for just one group to fill—encourage sharing, without awkwardly needing to ask. Sitting at a table in a way that encourages others to join takes the pressure off both sides of the interaction. Above all else, a community-forward outlook can redefine how connected we feel to those around us; existing in the context of others is more meaningful than a self-focused view of these spaces. 

Having an individualistic mindset makes life in public spaces, to quote Thomas Hobbes, “nasty, brutish, and short.” We are not meant to reduce our fellow community members to competition for a seat while drinking a latte or writing a think piece for Georgetown’s best campus publication. Sure, forming community can be challenging, expensive, and awkward, but it is fundamentally human. So, next time you feel the urge to complain about one person taking up a four-top in a cafe, take a deep breath, smile, and say “Excuse me, can I sit with you?” And maybe compliment their laptop stickers, too.


Phoebe Nash
Phoebe is a first year in the College from Seattle, WA. She does not believe in urinals, ATM fees, or the real world. She does, however, faithfully believe in female friendship, Oxford commas, and sweet treats.


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