Barista

Credit @Nafinia Putra

By Erin Deborah

I got free coffee twice last week. Twice, I waltzed into my regular Pret, asked for a double espresso like I usually do in the middle of a workday afternoon, and left without footing the bill. 

It got me thinking about how little we expect from strangers. I am sometimes so wrapped up in my bubble that the barista in the local coffee shop becomes just a face, the cashier at Tesco just a bot asking for money, the guy at the end of the phone when I order a Chinese just a voice on a machine. 

Living in a big city is the ultimate escape. It’s what I love about London. But sometimes it’s nice to have someone smile back at you, a momentary connection passing between two perfect strangers in a city that embraces distance from others.

It’s about striking a balance between anonymity and personality. People may not know my name, may not know who I am, but they will know me as someone who cared enough to spend an extra thirty seconds during my morning routine to inquire about them. 

I asked a girl who was crying on the tube last week if she was okay. The girl was literally sobbing into her bag. What was I supposed to do? How sad that she was bewildered when a smiley brunette asked her if she, a sobbing blonde, was in fact alright. 

She wasn’t, of course. She probably went back home to cry over the partner who dumped her, the job she lost, the friend who was angry with her. But she smiled back at me. For a second, we weren’t two 20-somethings lost in our own worlds on the tube. We were momentary friends, sharing a connection over words mouthed across the Northern line.

Anyways, my point is - smile and say hi. It won’t always get you a free coffee. But it will always be kind.