Sixty-nine

“Let me start with a story,” the captain began, settling into a café chair. “Some years ago, I was part of a think tank—heliophysics space weather research, but that’s beside the point. What you need to know is that our project team members were all rational, intelligent people with advanced degrees. Yet three hours into a work session, we became impatient with each other. One day, a shouting match broke out between two visiting British researchers. They even came to blows.”

“Clashing theories?” Esther asked.

“Clashing ringtones and sports teams,” the captain said. “One fellow’s phone played Manchester United’s chant—quite loudly, I’m afraid. The man who attacked him was from Liverpool.”

Dante snorted. “Those guys shouldn’t have been in the same room.”

“After that incident, we collected the phones.”

Esther frowned. “You’re saying we should collect everyone’s phones? No one will agree to that!”

“Of course they won’t,” the captain said. “But if you don’t want more disruptions like the last one, you should enforce the muting of their devices, and forbid phone use in the writers’ lounge.”

“It’s not just the phones,” Dante said. “People were already restless when I got here. During the last half hour, I saw two people spill coffee, a guy began to talk to himself, and several people looked fidgety and distracted. Meanwhile, Tony Tanaka is chomping on marijuana gummies, and then he gets chatty and starts passing them around. Finally, just before the food fight started, a woman slammed her laptop shut and clomped down the stairs like she’d lost the will to go on.”

“It’s not a problem of will,” the captain said. “It’s a problem of rhythm.”

“Rhythm?” Esther said. “What are you suggesting? That everyone claps their hands and taps their feet?”

“I’m talking about ultradian rhythm.”

“Is that like finding your zodiac sign?” Nancy asked. “Or that third eye thing?”

“It’s not magic,” the captain said. “It’s biology.”

Nancy cringed. “I never liked biology. If what you’re about to suggest involves dissecting a frog, I’m out of here.”

The captain smiled. “No frogs are involved, I promise. However, understanding ultradian cycles is the key to better productivity.”

“I’m down with that,” Dante said.

“When you begin a sustained activity involving mental focus—creative writing in this case—your body and brain start burning through oxygen, glucose, and other vital fuels. You can go like the Energizer Bunny for a while, but there is a time limit.”

“Then what?” Dante asked. “You run out of juice?”

“Precisely. After approximately ninety minutes of focus, most people have passed their peak performance. At that point, the by-products of all that mental activity have accumulated in the body. Toxic buildup is felt physically and emotionally. We call it stress. And when we are stressed, irritability increases along with cravings for food, for sugar, tobacco, caffeine, alcohol, or even narcotics.”

“That’s Tony and his loaded gummies,” Dante cracked.

“I hope he isn’t driving his rideshare under the influence,” Lachelle LaLande declared from behind her laptop. She’d remained sitting at Tony’s table, along with Dina Nardini and Mason Dunn. All of them had become friendly, and since they’d already signed up for the next proctor session, they stayed put.

It was Nancy who came to Tony’s defense. “He never drives under the influence,” she insisted. “That’s a firm rule. Tony only chews bubble gum when he’s on duty. And he has a secret spot in Manhattan where he parks his car and takes catnaps when he’s tired.”

“And you know about this secret spot how?” Dante asked.

“Tony and I…” Nancy blushed. “Well, we got super friendly last night.”

“Forget about Tony’s work habits and Nancy’s love life!” Esther cried. “I’m more worried about our writers hitting this ultradian rhythm wall. There’s got to be a solution.”

“There is,” the captain said. “It’s called a work break. As soon as we step away from external demands, detoxification, maintenance, refueling, and repair can begin to take place inside our minds and bodies.”

“All this from one break?” Dante looked skeptical.

“During a twenty- to thirty-minute break, your body recalibrates and once again the brain functions to its fullest capacity.”

“But only for another ninety minutes, right?” Esther said, frowning.

“Approximately. However, the word ultradian means ‘many times a day’ because this cycle repeats itself over and over again during our waking hours.”

Esther sighed. “If all that’s true, then our three-hour Writer’s Block Lounge sessions are—”

“Too long,” the captain finished for her. “During my time at the institute, we not only curtailed phone use, but we also shortened each work session to ninety minutes.”

“We could do that here without much impact,” Esther reasoned.

“And if the response continues to be this good, we should add evening sessions,” Dante said. “It will improve the bottom line and give us more work hours.”

Captain Siebold offered another idea. “The breaks between your sessions can be put to good use. At the think tank, many of us would venture outside for brisk walks. Breakthrough solutions would often strike us during those walks…”

Esther pulled a pen and small notebook out of her apron pocket. I’d seen her use it to jot down creative ideas for her spoken-word performances. Now she began recording the captain’s suggestions.

“What else would you do?” Esther asked.

“Well, I hesitate to say, since it’s rather unorthodox—”

“Please tell us!” Nancy urged.

“All right,” the captain said. “Have you ever seen what children do when they’re finally let out of confining classrooms and allowed to hit the playground?”

“They run around, shouting and yelling,” Dante said.

“Yes. It’s quite natural. And at the institute, a group of us sometimes employed that stress reliever during our work breaks.”

“Employed what exactly?” I asked.

“Scream therapy. Of course, our facility was on private property with nothing but grass and trees around. It isn’t feasible in a public place like your coffeehouse.”

“You’re right,” Esther said, “but it’s such a good idea! We should find a way to do it.”

“How?” Nancy asked. “Screaming in the alley would only bring the police.”

“Let me think.” Esther tapped her chin. “We’re only three blocks from the Hudson River. We could take turns leading groups over to the Greenway.”

Dante nodded. “That strip of riverside park is separated from everything by the West Side Highway, so we’d be soundproofed.”

“That’s it!” Esther grinned wide. “Every ninety minutes, we’ll lead our writers to the water for de-stressing.”

Mason Dunn spoke up. “That’s genius. I’d join you for that. And so would a lot of others. Do you know how many people in this city need to yell into the void?!”

“It’s not a void. It’s a river,” Lachelle countered. “I like the idea, too. You should call it River Scream.”

“Like Riverdance!” Nancy said. “Only we can move our arms!”

Everyone stared at my youngest barista.

“I’m not kidding,” she said. “After six months of Irish Dance lessons, I learned two things. Clogging is hard. And keeping your arms from flapping around is even harder.”

“Any movement is beneficial for refreshing the mind,” Captain Siebold noted.

“Can I sing instead of scream?” Dina Nardini asked.

“I don’t see why not,” Esther said.

“The walk to the river and back should reinvigorate your writers, as well,” the captain said. “And not everyone needs to scream. A few minutes of simple deep breathing would be beneficial…”

I agreed and voiced my approval.

Though the River Scream project sounded eccentric, I loved the idea. I could just picture the writers chatting with one another on the way to the Hudson Greenway, making new friends, laughing as they let off steam and breathed in fresh air. Then they’d all come back to the Village Blend to warm up with fresh cups of coffee.

“I’m going to film it!” Mason Dunn declared. “I have a huge social media following. I’m sure River Scream will go viral!”

We all applauded that.

“Wow, Captain Siebold, you’re awesome,” Nancy gushed. “Do you have any more ideas to help unblock our writers?”

“Writer’s block is really just a productivity slump, and there are many ways to address it. For example, a brainstorming notebook…”

As the captain continued his suggestions, Esther scribbled in her own little notebook. And that’s where I left them.

It was getting late, and green beans were waiting in my roasting room, so I gave a little wave and headed downstairs.