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Downtown Duluth has plenty of coffee shops, but only one co-lab — and no, not the kind with tech bros on MacBooks pitching start-ups to venture capitalists. A co-lab, for the uninitiated, is supposed to be a “collaborative workspace,” a neutral spot where people can plug in laptops and work outside the home. Think fiber internet, shared tables, and a Keurig in the corner.
Our version? The Downtown Duluth Senior Co-Lab. By-invitation-only, fiercely independent, and powered not by Silicon Valley gadgets but by the creak of old leather chairs, the hiss of a Mr. Coffee, and the hum of equipment that should’ve been retired when Nixon resigned. We meet daily to solve the world’s problems, and usually manage to fix Duluth’s too — at least until the second pot runs dry.
The regulars are legends in their own right. There’s Stan the Plan, who still drags in a 1992 IBM ThinkPad that boots slower than the lift bridge in January. Ruthie Numbers arrives with a battered adding machine and can out-calculate the city budget office without breaking a sweat. Big Jack hauls a yellow legal pad stuffed with box scores that date back to Met Stadium. Lenny Two-Cups never travels without twin thermoses — one regular, one decaf he’s never actually opened. Me? I mostly scribble notes and try to keep the peace when the volume climbs past hockey-rink levels.
Today’s official board meeting topic: Apple’s big September product announcement. By the time Tim Cook wrapped his keynote, the unanimous vote was in: the company had just delivered the biggest public-relations boondoggle in U.S. history.
The iPhone 17?
“A brighter screen, faster chip, better selfies — that’s like the Twins bragging about a new bullpen catcher,” Stan barked.
The iPhone Air? Paper-thin at 5.6 millimeters.
“Drop it in the lawn, and the squirrels will haul it off,” Lenny declared.
AirPods Pro 3? Now with heart-rate sensors and live translation.
“Great,” Ruthie sighed, “now my earbuds can tell me I’m dying in five languages while I’m trying to do the crossword.”
Then came the Apple Watch Series 11. Blood-pressure alerts.
“Perfect,” said Big Jack. “Right when I see the credit-card bill.”
The SE 3 finally added an always-on display.
“Welcome to 2020,” muttered Stan.
And the Ultra 3 with its satellite link?
“So next time I trip outside Super One, I can beam a distress signal to the Pentagon,” Lenny chuckled.
None of it fooled the smartest board in America. These folks have lived through moon landings, recessions, and every salesman pitch ever thrown their way. They smelled the PR spin before the livestream even buffered. Wall Street smelled it too — Apple stock sagged before Cook left the stage.
Verdict delivered. Jobs gave us the future. Cook gave us thinner junk. The mugs were drained, the chairs scraped back, and the meeting adjourned earlier than usual. The bust was so bad the co-lab cut the session short and headed home for naps. When Apple can bore the sharpest minds in Duluth straight to sleep, that’s not innovation. That’s a historic bust.
This, folks, is what the Downtown Duluth Senior Co-Lab does best. We gather with our old machines, old habits, and sharper-than-ever tongues, and we separate truth from spin. No PR smokescreen survives under the fluorescent lights and cracked ceiling tiles of our by-invitation-only headquarters.
The rest of the world might see Apple’s announcement as another keynote. We see it as proof that the suits have replaced the dreamers. And we’ll keep saying so — one busted product, one botched press conference, one city budget at a time.
Tomorrow? Who knows what’s on the docket? But you can bet the Downtown Duluth Senior Co-Lab will hold court, weigh in, and solve it before lunch.
Right before we all head home for that early nap.
