A Love Letter to Baristas

If you read my last post, you know that I helped open a franchise-owned chain coffee shop this past week. Luckily, prior barista experience helped quell my nerves. I thought I knew what to expect because I also helped open a smaller, locally owned coffee shop in 2016. However, I quickly learned how much busier and more chaotic these larger chain coffee shops are. It was madness.

In my opinion, baristaing is one of the most intense entry-level jobs in existence. We rise from our warm, cozy beds around 4am and arrive to work by 5am. Once the coffee shop opens, it is a literal sprint until the end of the shift. There is no time to breathe or to regulate the nervous system. There is only time for efficiency and vibrancy. Yesterday at 6:15am we had a line of ten customers inside and eight cars outside waiting in the drive thru. Working folks are desperate for their daily hit of caffeine. Before I had time to sip my own cup of joe, there was a stack of fifteen drink orders.

Imagine having to make this lineup of drink tickets as quickly possible hours before the sun comes up:

Iced matcha latte with oat milk

Quad shot Americano with room for cream and three splendas

Decaf sugar free vanilla latte with almond milk and no whipped cream

Banana berry smoothie with half the flavoring, extra strawberries, and soy milk

Half caff caramel hazelnut latte extra hot

London Fog with an extra tea bag, three pumps of vanilla, and skim milk

Cafe au lait extra hot with 2% milk, one pump white chocolate, and three sugars in the raw

Triple shot frozen sugar free peppermint stick mocha no whip

Extra dry coconut milk cappuccino at 145 degrees

Cold brew with light ice, cinnamon syrup, and two inches of sweet foam

Hot chocolate at 120 degrees, extra whipped cream, and sprinkles

Ready? Go!

In addition to memorizing hundreds of drink recipe combinations, baristas are also expected to effortlessly strike up conversations with cranky uncaffeinated customers over top of blaring music and noisy coffee bean grinders. We think three steps ahead at all times while acting chipper and bubbly. I get a headache just thinking about it. For extroverts, this might come naturally and even be enjoyable. But for highly sensitive, neurodivergent introverts like me, this job is draining AF.

Because writing is how I process my emotions and recenter, I decided to write a love letter to all of my fellow baristas:

Dear Barista,

I see you. I love you.

I understand the mental and emotional gymnastics that come with this job.

I know how easy it is to get frustrated and overwhelmed.

I know how hard it is to have multiple people talking at you while you're trying to focus.

I know you are forced to mask the shit going on in your personal life.

I know you always have a headache.

I know you’re grossly underpaid.

I know you’re sleep deprived and surviving on caffeine.

I know customers are grumpy and impatient even though you’re trying your best.

I know it feels impossible to get out of your cozy bed in the dead of winter at 4am.

I know that you are too exhausted and too overstimulated to function after each shift.

I also know that you are doing it.

You are showing up and doing your best.

You are juggling a thousand things at once and still smiling.

This is a job for special humans.

And you just happen to be one of those special humans.

You have superpowers.

I am so proud of you for showing up.

I see you. I love you.

I am learning that, for me, the only way to make this job sustainable is to really take care of myself in my free time. If I was still drinking, this type of work would be impossible. Although it's tough to get out of bed at 4am, I am incredibly grateful that I am not waking up hungover. Sobriety gives me space to be gentle and kind with myself, which is exactly what I need to counterbalance the chaos of being a barista.

Progress.