Hi everyone,
I'm currently working on some more edits on my book while I have a standby this evening. As I was working on a chapter, I re-read these paragraphs below and wanted to share them with you - along with some photos of me from this coffee shop. I just think it's a great description of what coffee shops really are.
Enjoy.
S.
...
You see, a coffee shop isn’t just a place to buy a drink. Sure, you can go to Starbucks or Costa and burn your tongue on an overpriced cup of coloured water made by someone who couldn’t care less about the difference between a single or double espresso, but specialty coffee shops aren’t just a place to spend your hard earned money. It’s a way of life, It’s a home - welcome to every type of person from every walk of life. The love of coffee bringing people together without prejudice. People merely bonding over the experience and knowing 100% that wherever you are in the world, there will always be a specialty coffee shop somewhere with it’s doors open and ready to welcome you in.
With that in mind, when working in a specialty coffee shop, there’s an extremely thin line between a customer becoming a friend and being… well, a customer. Casual chit-chat with customers can bounce back and forth from the most mundane of subjects like the weather, to how your friend had recently died and you could just really, really use a hug. Life stories slowly start to present themselves as each and every regular customer comes in through that door for their daily fix of coffee. Then the usual “good morning, what can I get you?” gradually turns into “hey mate, how’s the wife?” As the relationships grow, so do the conversations. And as the days, weeks and months go by, you suddenly find yourself one night at the pub on the corner with Will the banker and Laura from the perfume shop next door, drinking into the night until you realise you have to get up at 4:45am the next morning to start all over again.
Naturally, the next morning you see Will the banker with a terrible hangover picking up a large cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso and the perfume shop next door hasn’t opened it’s doors yet because Laura got too drunk and forgot to set her alarm. But you, you’re back where it all started. Standing behind a coffee machine greeting the customers while you sip your own oat milk flat white that you had already made before you opened up that morning.
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