As a barista — I learned the art of the small talk, the skill of performing on stage, and how to be spontaneous.
I still remember as a senior in college, excited and anxious about what it meant to work for a living, I was guided to take a personality-career matching test.
The results it yielded felt like it doomed me to a certain perceived existence: confined to four walls, making best colleagues with a computer and having water cooler conversations with my favorite books.
Editor, researcher, accountant, and librarian rose to the top. The last profession listed seemed particularly sardonic since I conducted my financial aid work study throughout my college years at the university library.
You see, I am an introvert.
On the introversion and extroversion spectrum, I skew towards being an introvert in the sense that I need ample alone time to recharge, preferring to go home to hang out with myself rather than go to a happy hour after a busy day. My best dates are when I go to a coffee shop to read and work on assignments that I give myself on my laptop. Sometimes I punctuate my solitude by surfing Facebook and giggle inwardly at the nonsense chatter online, and then feel socially fulfilled that I interacted with a few friends by posting a comment while sitting in my self-fabricated cocoon.
It is possible for an introvert to find enjoyable work and thrive in a very active and social environment.
In my quest to get to know my young self, I was fortunate to find work in a coffee shop during a brief job gap. I then continued to stay on working part time for the next eleven years. By the end, I was holding onto one six-hour morning shift every week on Wednesdays before I rolled into my office job.
I only left shortly after I found out I was pregnant and knew I needed to ‘slow down.’ All this is to say that, not only was being a barista my longest job ever, but also that it is possible for an introvert to find enjoyable work and thrive in a very active and social environment.
Working as a barista utilized all my faculties and made me feel alive. It was at the coffee shop that I realized how much I loved the mornings.
I signed up for the opening shifts that required me to arrive by 4:30am to start baking and open the doors by 5:30am. I loved the eerie silence of the kitchen, with just the whirring of the refrigerator to remind me that I was not alone.
How lucky I am to bake muffins before anyone wakes up, I often thought to myself. My hard work was rewarded by watching the sun rise as the fresh scent of coffee and baked goods bewitched the first somnolent customers to levitate through the door.
I still remember a customer was shocked when he learned that I was an introvert, given how cheerful and energetic I am at 5am. It was then that I felt like I should be an ambassador for introverts, slaying misconceptions about our behaviors and what we are capable of doing.
I often felt inadequate when the world around me operated against my grain.
I remember watching the author Susan Cain on Ted Talk in awe of her bravery and clinging on to every word in her book Quiet.
I wish my younger self knew someone like her as I struggled with the peer pressure of connecting to people and expressing myself. American culture often feels very much geared towards extroverts — the sports, the happy hours, the networking, and even in academics, where participation often makes a big portion of the overall grade. I often felt inadequate when the world around me operated against my grain. Working at the coffee shop gave me a space to practice liaising with the world as an introvert.
At the coffee shop, the space behind the counter was my stage. The counter was a physical barrier between me and the customer that gave me a sense of security to engage in conversations with strangers. Like having an invisible cape, I felt like I stepped into a bolder self behind the counter and became a superhero in front of the espresso making machine.
I took orders, engaged in simultaneous conversations as I danced my way to the machine and banged out a line of drinks, keeping my composure as the urgent eyes of thirsty type A customers beamed the back of my head.
Making the perfect drink was a responsibility I took seriously — short of saving lives, I felt like I could take credit for every customer’s successes, for the fact that they depended on me for that first sip to motorize their day.
I especially loved memorizing people’s drink orders by using my own mnemonic device — Triple Truffle Tracy, Caramel Coffee Carmen, Grande Coffee Greg. I also formulated crude visual triggers to remember my customers — the fastidious lady with the flowery purse orders a non fat non sugar vanilla latte, with the foam filled up just-so, and the bald bowling ball shaped older gentleman orders an extra large green iced tea, preferably with ice brimming over the top.
I enjoyed even more when I managed to make a drink when I saw a customer step out of their car. I would leap to the espresso machine to make it by the time they stepped into the coffee shop. No words exchanged, just me neatly placing the drink on the counter and sealing our “would have been” conversation tightly in the cup, topped off with just a wink and smile. Transaction. Complete.
As a barista , I learned the art of the small talk, the skill of performing on stage, and how to be spontaneous — qualities that I now realize that any introvert can learn and enjoy.
As I reflect on how introversion has shaped my life, I often think of how being a barista allowed me to launch myself and connect to people in ways I did not think I could.
I’ve taken more personality and career matching tests throughout my life now, not to determine my future, but out of curiosity. But none have yet pointed me to professions that require me to dive into very social environments. But thanks to being a barista, I know that I have the potential to whirl and twirl onto the social stage if I so desired, saving ample time to recoup.
