My barista spelled my name with an exclamation point the other day, and it turned my entire afternoon around. I was no longer simply Shannon — I was Shannon! And I was caffeinated! It was awesome.
I’d like to take a moment to pay homage to our baristas. Even just the fact that it’s normal to say “my barista,” as one would say “my colourist” or “my mechanic,” implies a relationship beyond simply a coffee conveyor belt. They are the people who caffeinate us, and that position demands respect.
And so, to my barista:
I promise I will always be polite.
I promise that on the mornings when it feels too early to be polite, I will remember that you were here earlier than I was, so I will be polite anyway. I know that it will be worth it, because you will hand me my coffee with a smile.
I promise to remember that “large Americano to go” is not the same thing as saying: “Hello.” You are not a necessary evil to be endured. You are the person making my coffee, and I will greet you as lord and saviour, as is proper.
I promise never to resent you for trying to up-sell. It is your job. You are required to do it. You are being paid to use the full force of your personality and charm to convince me that a 59-cent flavour shot will make my day better. I will decline, but I promise to decline with grace.
I promise to remember that you are doing a job for low wages with a smile on your face.
I promise never to flirt with you on shift, even if you are delightful and attractive. I promise to remember that you are being paid to be friendly.
This doesn’t preclude us from having a friendly relationship, especially if we see each other often and enjoy asking how each other’s days are going. But I promise to remember that you are being paid to be here, that you are required to be polite, and that our interactions must always take that into account.
I promise never to call you pet names. I know this is an individual preference and some people don’t mind, but since I can’t know if any given barista will enjoy being called “hon” or “dear,” I promise not to, on the understanding that many people find it condescending and presumptuous.
I promise to remember that you’re doing 12 things at once, and sometimes you have to multitask. I promise to be patient. Waiting an extra minute for coffee and a sandwich I didn’t have to make myself is not the tragedy of the decade, and I promise to remember that, even if I am used to getting what I want exactly when I want it.
I promise to remember that it’s not your fault if I didn’t budget my time properly and I’m now in a rush. I promise to leave home five minutes early to factor in the possibility that other people might have realized that your shop makes awesome coffee and there might, therefore, be a lineup.
If ever you are rude, or even just curt or harried, I promise that I understand. I have days like that, too, and I will not use my position as a customer to demand “better service” or try to correct what I see as your errors.
I promise to understand that I have the power in the interaction, not you — that I can choose to leave and you cannot. We all have off-days. I hope you are feeling better tomorrow.
That being said, I promise to remember that I in fact can’t remember the last time I had bad service or bad coffee at your shop — it’s why I keep coming back.
I promise to never get snippy with you if you misspell my name. I have a common white-girl name and I know that if you misspell it as “Shenyn,” it’s clearly a mistake, not a diabolical plot to ruin my day. If I had a name that is often misspelled, it would grate on me, but since I don’t, it doesn’t, and I promise to keep things in perspective. I still get my coffee, which was the entire point of the exercise.
No cellphones. I promise.
