Twenty-one months as a barista, more than anything, taught me this much: a cup of joe has a funny, radical way of bringing people together.
Built on the ground level of a luxury apartment complex in the summer of 2019, Craftwork Coffee at the Domain was picturesque. In the mornings, gigantic window panes gave way to bountiful natural light flooding the cafe, supported in the evenings by the vast orange glow of clustered lamps hanging overhead. Lining the perimeter of the walls were sizable wood tables, an abundance of leg room and power outlets underneath. Behind the bar was a giant, beautifully self-indulgent golden wall with the Craftwork logo, along with our menu etched into wood panels and an assortment of shelves holding mugs, plates, and coffee bags.
I think back to my first few weeks, starry-eyed, when the words “dirty chai with almond” were gibberish and the idea of milk coming out of almonds was incomprehensible. It wasn’t long before little recurrences became meaningful rituals: the staff hangs, happy hours, and hugs from your favorite regulars. The blue 5:30am drives beating the sunrise to set up for the day. The unnoticed scene change from a quiet, empty room to a bustling cafe filled by the sounds of hissing espresso machinery, clinking glasses, and the steady thrum of conversation. The recognition of the same Khruangbin songs on the speakers, those intoxicating guitar melodies sung along to with your companion behind bar while you crank out cappuccinos. Having intermittent conversation between rushes about therapy, childhood, or the rhyme structure of a Phoebe Bridgers song. Betting money on what you think your kookiest regular will say that day.
Over that year and a half working in the shop, I had hundreds of wonderful conversations with all kinds of brilliant people: designers, writers, engineers, scientists, musicians, actors, businessmen, poets, retirees, influencers, e-sports managers, new parents, and seemingly any other kind of person you can imagine.
A cafe is a window into the world, reflecting all of the joy and worry and unprocessed emotion felt towards the state of things. Conversations at the bar ranged from artificial intelligence to the presidential election, from finding the right partner to being a good parent, from writing songs to experiencing paralyzing loneliness. Kindling connection seems to come easier with a cup of coffee and a golden wall.
Within the Craftwork lore, there was no shortage of regular faces. Among them, drip coffee Joel who worked for Microsoft; soft-spoken Golden Yunnan tea Nick; vanilla latte Haley with her gentle early morning chats; bookish Wes who ordered an espresso without fail (“a Wespresso,” we’d call it); private equity Carl who was kind, outspoken and often difficult; fitness instructor Julia who brought warmth and energy; sweet Adam from IBM who sauntered in each afternoon with a note card full of song recommendations for us; therapist Margarita who left us feeling brand new; iced mocha John who always brought a fresh conspiracy theory ready to present; “two papas, egg and cheese tacos with three cold brews, no ice and a shot” guy Ben.
In a cafe, there is rhythm found in routine and familiarity found in regularity. Make someone one hundred drinks, and you’ll know much about their spirit; where they put their hope, and where they source their optimism; what books have changed their life; where they draw their strength, and what they’re working on; their original birthplace, their full name, and their children’s names. The list goes on.
Information is shared over time, prompted by curiosity, but often prompted simply by the willingness to share. Brick walls built by formality and internal, mechanized scripts are broken. What begins as business blossoms into kinship and benevolence. Regulars bring homemade cookies, Christmas cards, and handwritten letters from their 6-year-old sons. Newcomers turn into family. Life is shared.
Enjoying the community of a cafe as a patron is one pleasure, but watching the community form as a barista is entirely another. To the regulars who learned my name and willingly broke the transaction barrier, I’m so grateful for you. You all make the world go around with your kindness, and I promise to keep the warm flame of generosity you were to me burning for others working in coffee and beyond.
Cheers for twenty-one wonderful months.