Diesel Love Stories

20 years of tales, triumphs, tidbits and tragedy, as shared by you.

Pure Gratitude I’ve written so many editions of this love story, since I seem to have so many love stories to share. But the overarching similarity between them all is pure gratitude.  I moved to Boston fresh out of college, and like so many who wandered through, I had no idea what I wanted to …

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Thanks a Latte In September 1999 one of my best friends (Mónica) and I moved to Somerville. We were fresh out of undergrad and trying to figure out our way in Boston. We were overwhelmed, optimistic, naive, excited, and felt the blessing and curse of new adulthood on our shoulders. We walked into Davis Square …

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My Deep, Queer, Freak Face “I work at Diesel”, I was always proud to say. As well as, of course, “No, not the clothing company.”   “We are more – queer as in fuck you and less gay as in designer jeans”, I’d tell people in the era of my life that orbited Diesel Cafe.   …

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Back For More… I’m one of the “back for more” employees! Worked there in 2000? 2001? Moved away and then when I moved back and went to grad school (with Russo!) worked there again around 2005-2006? Those shifts at Diesel were not only a needed antidote to the stress of thesis-writing and social work internships, …

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Friendship Bracelets When I pretended to leave last spring, I thought that it was Diesel and my time committed to its service that contributed to my burnout—in actuality it was the very essence that was keeping me (and has kept me) spiritually alive through this MA experience— I don’t think it’s a secret that my …

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Diesel has piece of my heart….  after moving cross country to Boston I quickly learned about Diesel Cafe. I would spend hours there working on lesson plans, playing pool with coworkers and crushing on the adorable staff.  The summer before starting graduate school I finally built up the courage to apply to work at Diesel. …

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The Place With the Motorcycle The first time I visited Diesel Cafe, I was a freshman at Emerson College. It was the fall of 2010, and I was only eighteen. I barely passed for an adult: “artsy” glasses, long sleeve shirt under a graphic tee, black skinny jeans. Still a hint of baby face.  I …

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