Oberlin is ending their partnership with Barnes & Noble at the end of this school year, and the College bookstore will no longer be in its current location across from Bibbins Hall next year. The school apparently plans to move the seating from what is now the periodicals section in the back of Azariah’s Café and sell their Yeobie-themed totes and hoodies there instead.
Immediately, this raises concerns that employees of the College bookstore, currently run by Barnes & Noble, will not be rehired by University Gear Shop, the new supplier for Oberlin apparel. What’s more, it feels ridiculous to put a bookstore in a library that quite literally has thousands upon thousands of free books. I understand that the College needs to have a bookstore, and that the current one might be operating at a loss. What I can’t understand is why Azzie’s, arguably the most popular third place on Oberlin’s campus, should have its space and its energy compromised.
The administration very well may have chosen Azzie’s on purpose. There’s a dozen other places in Mudd Center itself that could have been a new bookstore location. Azzie’s, though, is a high-traffic space that doesn’t make the college substantial supplemental income. It’s possible that instead of this plan being a gross oversight of student’s wants, it’s a direct rejection of them, intentionally compelling students who already visit Azzie’s to fill the College’s pockets even further.
As someone who is easily distracted when studying alone or in a secluded location, many of the study spaces on this campus don’t work very well for me. Being able to do homework in a coffee shop atmosphere, especially one where I don’t feel pressured to spend money, is an unfailing boost to my productivity. Something about working in a coffee shop, surrounded by people reading quietly, working on group projects, or just laughing with friends, makes doing work more fun. Because it’s an inherently social space, I’m less inclined to pull out my phone and waste time on texting or social media even when I’m working there alone.
Anyone who goes to Azzie’s — which I’d venture to guess is most of the student body — knows how frequently that space is used, and how busy it gets. It’s not just students, either — there’s a number of community members who come in every day, from Kendal and beyond, drinking their coffee and reading newspapers on those brown couches that may not survive the makeover next year. Azzie’s is an integral part of many people’s daily routines, including my own, and reducing the space demonstrates Oberlin’s persistent disregard for what the community actually wants.
I’m not even on the meal plan, and I spend hours every day at Azzie’s because that space has never been just about the coffee and bagels. It’s a third place, something that feels increasingly rare on this campus, where I’ve begun new friendships and strengthened old ones. It’s a forum in which ideas are exchanged and minds are changed, where couples go for first dates and fiftieth ones alike. It’s a place where my coworkers and I dance to our music as we pour a heart shape into someone’s latte.
As an employee of Azzie’s myself, this change is also, as Marx might put it, causing further alienation from my labor. Being a barista isn’t just about pulling espresso shots and steaming milk — it’s about being part of and of service to your community. The elimination of in-person ordering last spring already took away most of the sweet little interactions that make working at a coffee shop so much fun. By taking away part of the café, these exchanges will be reduced even further.
Oberlin doesn’t seem to understand that daily, genuine interactions between students and employees is foundational to our community. Instead, we’re like robots to them: here to stick tickets on cups and funnel them through an assembly line until the orders are placed on austere and oversized metal racks. Mobile order only is bad enough — are we really going to reduce the only coffee shop on campus to, as my coworkers have joked, a drive-thru Dunkin’ Donuts?
It’s hard not to notice that Oberlin seems to be in a constant state of change, especially recently. The Rathskeller, another place I loved to sit and spend time with friends, already lost in-person seating a year and a half ago. The smoothie bar, Biggs GoYeo, shut down despite its popularity — indeed, Azzie’s is the one place left to get a fun drink with your meal plan. The renovations to Wilder are stretching into their fourh year, with little communication as to why. Woodland Hall is being built in just two years, with windows that don’t even open, as an excuse to eliminate off-campus housing and funnel more of students’ money straight into the school’s pockets. None of these changes seem to be improving student and community life; rather, these shifts only underline that Oberlin’s bottom line will always be efficiency and profit. The administration doesn’t seem to realize that, by prioritizing their wallets over the wishes of their students, they are dismantling the very community that makes Oberlin, Oberlin. Why must the administration constantly push to monopolize every dime spent in this town?
