When I first slipped past the defenses and crept into the Coffee House, a wise old gnome behind the counter called me over. "The Coffee House is a lively place, full of character and history. It's not for everyone."
"Do you think I can hang out in here if I keep my shoes on, try not to make eye contact, and stay out of the way?" I asked.
He thoughtfully filled a mug, staring intently into the steam. He took a sip and nodded his approval. He glanced around the room. "You want to stay in the Coffee House?" he asked. "It is what you make it."
"You mean, the depth of my experience here is due in large part to how much of myself I invest in the community?" I asked. "We are each responsible for our own experiences. Our community will be as rich, as colorful, as full as we decide it should be. The spirit of the Coffee House is a living organism that thrives on the spirit of its inabitants. Is that what you mean?"
He shook his head. "No, you idiot! The coffee! Make it yourself! I'm not your stinkin' barista!"
That memory still brings a tear to my eye.