When I go to the store, at least one item on my list is out of stock. The products that are available are more expensive.

Traffic is always an absolute nightmare (I chose to live in the San Francisco Bay Area so that one's probably on me).

Instagram and Facebook are riddled with ads and posts from accounts you have no interest in following. When you attempt to reduce the number of posts you see from those accounts by telling the algorithm you don't like them, they're just replaced by other, equally grating content.

But the one thing that really gets me is the paper coffee cup.

We almost got rid of disposable coffee cups

In 2019, mere months before Covid-19-inspired lockdowns changed everything, San Francisco coffee shops were actually on their way to switching their paper cups out for reusable ones. From small neighborhood coffee shops to larger chains like Blue Bottle, the overall sentiment was that disposable cups were causing too much preventable waste.

Blue Bottle gave out around 15,000 disposable cups per month. But despite their "paper" composition, the cups actually aren't easily recyclable. They have plastic in them, too, to prevent leakage and create a stronger cup. Which means that they aren't headed to recycling facilities. They tend to end up in landfills.

One local coffee shop, Perch Cafe in Oakland, CA, made the switch to reusable cups in September 2019. Kedar Korde, the owner of the cafe, said his nine-year-old daughter did a cleanup project with her school to beautify the nearby Lake Merritt. She joked that she shouldn't have to clean her room when she found her dad's disposable products polluting the lake.

Her dad was inspired to get rid of the disposable cup option at his cafe and switch to glass jars. Now, customers could put down a 50-cent deposit on the reusable cup and return it for a full refund, or keep it for 25 cents off all future drinks, if they remember to bring it in each time they're craving coffee.

But this was all pre-pandemic. Four years have passed, and Perch Cafe, along with many other small, indie coffee shops, has permanently closed. And it seems that most coffee shops I go to nowadays are back on their disposable cup grind.

How restaurants make you want to leave (or stay)

Before we knew exactly how COVID-19 spread, restaurants and beverage shops seemed to agree that single-use items were the safest options. No one would have to wash the plate that could potentially harbor this scary disease, and no one was sticking around inside long enough to warrant a reusable dish.

But now, we do know how COVID-19 spreads; it's primarily person-to-person through droplets and aerosols. Surface transmission can still happen, but it's way less common, especially if those surfaces are cleaned frequently, as they are in places that serve food and beverages.

So, we can go back to reusable dishware, right? Wrong.

Part of me thinks the paper coffee cup trend might be in an effort to get people in and out faster. There's a reason that fast food restaurants are purposefully designed to be uncomfortable. The hard overhead lights, the hard plastic seats, and the fully disposable meal (besides the tray, in some cases) are meant to make you want to eat your meal quickly, then leave. They don't want you to linger because that would mean you're taking a seat from another paying customer. Their business model hinges on getting people in and out quickly so they can have the highest quantity of customers each day buying their low-cost products.

And since the pandemic, fast food restaurants want you inside even less, with many now shifting to drive-thru and mobile ordering-only models that negate the need for an indoor dining room at all.

On the other hand, fancy, high-end restaurants want the opposite. As Think Interior says, "The right ambiance can create a welcoming and comfortable atmosphere, making customers feel relaxed and happy and encouraging them to stay longer and enjoy their meals more."

These restaurants are designed to keep you there as long as possible so you keep buying their expensive drinks, another side, and dessert. Their plush seating, dim lighting, and exceptional service make you want to linger, and in some cases make you sleepy enough to do so.

Here's a mug, stay a while

Coffee shops, which used to be prime third places (think Central Perk from Friends), where people would go to chat with their friends over a cozy mug of coffee, have become akin to the fast food restaurants hoping to increase their quantity of customers and get you out as soon as possible.

At the counter, when you're handed a disposable coffee cup, it opens up the possibility that you could leave. And many people do. They've got things to do, places to go, people to see. The hustle culture we live in tends to make people anxious when they're sitting idle for too long.

But what if they handed you a warm, steaming mug? Would you sit down, maybe pull out a book, or read the news? Would you start up a conversation with your neighbor? You might, you might not. Some may ask the barista to transfer their coffee into a disposable cup and be on their way. But at least you had the option. You could have spent the next half hour decompressing in a third place before you go about the rest of your day.

I think that's the crux of it. The third-placeness of it. When I'm handed a disposable cup, it feels like the barista herself wants me to leave. There's no invitation in the gesture.

It feels similar to the doorman fallacy: "What happens when people desperate to squeeze a few extra dollars out of a business misjudge the value, worth, and scope of a particular role."

Disposable cups may be cheaper and easier to handle than reusable cups, but they don't create the same atmosphere or opportunity that a warm mug does.

In a society where the climate crisis is all but irreversible, fast food restaurants getting faster with fewer opportunities for positive social interaction, and third places are all but obsolete, handing someone a mug and inviting them to stay a while may be one small step toward a more enjoyable existence.