I worked at a coffee shop my senior year of college. It was called Crafted by Commonplace, however, we were better known as “the coffee shop in the library.” I wouldn’t really call myself a barista per se, mostly because all I had to do was press a couple buttons and the machines practically made the drinks for us. We also barely ever got customers. Our busiest times were finals week and whenever there was too long of a line at the Starbucks next door. I spent more time cleaning and toasting bagels than I did making coffee. But I still really liked the job. I spent every Monday and Wednesday evening (plus Friday mornings) there for my final semester of undergrad.

The best part of the job was the free coffee. I worked 6 hour shifts, so there was a lot of time to experiment. We made some flavor syrups in house, including lavender. I had seen lavender syrup advertised at other local coffee shops before, but I was always scared to try it. I mean, who wants to spend $6 on something they might not even like? Plus, I am an oat milk drinker, so there’s another $1 I am risking on a potentially gross morning latte. 

After about a month of working 18 hours a week behind the counter, I decided to be brave. I made myself an iced lavender oat milk latte. And that first sip started a borderline unhealthy addiction. I made myself at least 5 of these a week, not including those I would come in on my days off and ask my coworkers for. It became known as my drink. I could always tell if we were out of oat milk or lavender syrup from the looks on my coworkers’ faces when I stopped in. 

After my senior year when I moved back home, I was really bummed out. I thought I would have to wait three whole months before my next iced lavender oat milk latte. And then a new coffee shop opened up in my hometown. On my first visit, I was greeted with a beautiful sign- “try our homemade lavender syrup!” I almost cried. I spent my whole summer buying the same drink over and over again. It only took about three trips before the baristas knew my order and I became a regular. 

When I tell people my go-to coffee order, I am often met with weird looks. One time my non-coffee-drinking mom came with me, and when I ordered my drink she said “That sounds like something gross they would make them eat on Survivor.” Call it what you want, but I love this concoction. 

Isn’t it kinda weird that what is predictable for me is disgusting for others? My go-to coffee order makes me so happy, but other people gag at the thought of it. I think there’s a metaphor for life somewhere in here. Something cheesy about how we all have a unique perspective and it’s expected that we will all find joy in different things. Maybe I should take some philosophy majors out for coffee some time and we can write a thesis on it. 

Nah, that’s too much work. For now, I’ll just call myself weird and stick to my iced lavender oat milk lattes.