The question in my title came to my mind when I was missing my more frequent interactions with baristas in pre-pandemic times. Those interactions, without masks, would bring a little joy to my day even before my first sip of coffee. I don’t want to know the answer to the robot question, so I’m not going to google it. My guess is I think the barista job has a lot of security (granted not a lot of pay), given the need for caffeine to be delivered in whatever most satisfying format one desires, crafted to perfection by those who are skilled at the art of espresso. Then again, the world has surprised us all before with how things change. While I am sure there are a few popular TED Talks out there about how robots have the potential to save us from doom while somehow not eliminating jobs, I truly hope the neighborhood coffee shops and their barista heroes will never disappear. I’m definitely not going to google it.
A few years ago, I would often get my lazy weekend morning latte at my local Whole Foods coffee bar. There was one barista there that had a sweeter and kinder face than any other who ever took my order, pressed and twisted the freshly-ground espresso into position, and foamed my milk to perfection, finishing it off with the magic touch that creates a leaf or heart etched into the frothy top. While a good latte can be found in many places (truth be told I’m not a Starbucks fan, but I still admire the work of their baristas), I am always in search of the best and love trying new places. When my daughter and I were on college tours, I would be behind the wheel while she would search Yelp to find the highest-rated local coffee shop within a reasonable distance of the campus we were touring. We would enjoy our personalized lattes and decide if the establishment lived up to its 5-star reviews (usually it did). Maybe the fun coffee breaks took some of the pressure and awkwardness out of the college process. Smart, enthusiastic, student tour guide involved in too many clubs for a reasonable person to participate in be dammed – we’re paying more attention to the coffee! Someday I’ll open that coffee shop I’ve thought about over the years. Is 60 a good age for that? There seems to always be room for one more excellent coffee shop.
Back to my Whole Foods coffee bar. The barista there was young, probably in his 20s, of color, hair standing up with cool confidence, and had a permanent small but genuine smile on his face. It was like what one of my yoga teachers says when she reminds us to relax into a pose – “lift the corners of your lips.” The corners of his lips appeared locked in place at contentment. Who I am to say whether he was happy, making lattes or otherwise, but I can say his smile never failed to welcome me with authentic warmth. I noticed the first time he served me that his eyes were more connected to mine than what I would expect in most everyday interactions. I am not talking in an uncomfortable kind of way; I was already an “older woman,” probably even old enough to be his mom, and while every woman can recall a moment (or many) when male eyes linger too long or lean too close, this was definitely not that.
I think it was about the third time he served me that I realized I never heard him speak. It suddenly dawned on me, once I paid attention past his sweet smile, that he couldn’t hear me either. Those focused eyes were observing my face for a very necessary reason. The lightbulb went off in my head that he was deaf; his intimate gaze was reading my lips so he would get my order right! Perhaps there was no special connection between us after all, but his smile still gave me a moment of joy every time I found him at the counter ready to take my order.
Then there was the barista at the indie coffee shop a few blocks from there, one that I would happily walk to when time allowed, anticipating my almond milk latte and its perfectly balanced small-batch espresso flavor. The barista there was a little older than my Whole Foods friend, bearded, white, maybe he looked like a musician. He didn’t have lips that turn up at the corners, but he wasn’t grumpy either. It was hard to read anything about his emotional state because the expression on his face was like a flat white – a minimal layer of covering over something stronger and more mysterious beneath. I always wondered if he was the owner because he took so much pride in his work, his eyes locked on the important details of making the best latte in the neighborhood. It’s a popular spot and you must be patient, so there is time to watch how the barista team keeps the process moving smoothly but never hastily, just like me when I take the first satisfying sip of my coffee with my lips turned up. When the hip not happy barista would place the cup on the pickup counter and call out the drink, I always tried to meet his eyes and say thank you. Sometimes he I would get a quick “enjoy” response, maybe with a fleeting moment of slightly turned-up lips. At that moment I would feel like a younger, hipper version of myself; if I were a pair of sneakers, I would be those cool-looking ones made of recycled plastic, renewable bamboo, and reclaimed rubber that pop up on my Instagram making me think I need them.
Since the pandemic, I am mostly in a new place and usually make coffee at home, but I will go out of my way to discover the best coffee in 20 miles instead of 20 blocks. It’s hard to tell if the masked baristas are smiling as they take my order; the subtle smiles are harder to notice when only the eyes are revealed. Unless there is great enthusiasm coming from the voice behind the mask, I assume they are feeling more stressed than they were before and that the smiles come less frequently. A friend of mine recently said that she thought we might all feel a little bit more comfortable hiding behind our masks, our faces protected, along with the emotions found beneath the minimal eye contact needed to navigate the world outside. Could be true, I thought. Like so many times in life, it is probably a mix of emotions – we miss the subtler connections that used to be more present in everyday exchanges, yet we welcome the escape from those more easily too.
Life’s complexity reminds us to pause and appreciate simple joys. Whatever complexities the robotics engineers are working on to make the world function more efficiently in some way or another, I will continue to embrace ignorance on how that might change us even more as I continue to stop and savor my latte and the work of the barista who created it. This holiday season I will remember to tip generously too. Joy to the world, to human connection, and especially to the baristas!
Me and My 50s 