My favourite coffee shop hates me. So why do I keep going back?

I go to the same coffee shop every Saturday morning for an iced latte and a bit of toast. It’s the kind with cold brew and bagels, where the girlies sip iced lattes in their Pinky & Kamal sets, and the guys sport ironic facial hair and tattoos.

The only problem is the staff there. They seem to hate me. Every time I approach the till with a sunshiny disposition and a big “hello” on my lips, ready to exchange $7 for a shot of decaf and some ice, they glare back as if I’ve just run over their beloved family pet. No one ever asks, “What can I get you?” They just look at me and wait until I stammer out my order.

It’s hard to find a smile at my local coffee shop. But we all queue up regardless.Credit:

Before you wonder, it’s not just me. I’m not being personally victimised for having a resting bitch face or ordering a “pour over” when they’re slammed. It’s a thing. I went there with friends a few weeks ago, and every one of them walked out with the same expression. “What did I do to her?” one said with a raised brow. “Oh, don’t worry, they hate everyone,” I replied.

It’s like Seinfeld’s famed “soup Nazi” has branched out into coffee.

So why do I keep going? There are plenty of coffee shops I could choose from, so what makes this one so special that I’ve become a regular despite the terrible service?

Honestly, it’s all about the vibe. And by vibe, I mean many cool people go there. Don’t worry, I despise myself a bit, too.

But I know I’m not the only one who values the cool factor with my coffee ... if I were, there wouldn’t be a queue out the door for a place that curses your very presence.

There’s a certain cultural cachet that comes with the cafes we frequent – they say something about us: our taste, our character, our place in the community. For many of us, our favourite coffee shop is not just a place to get our daily caffeine fix – it’s a public declaration of who we are.

It’s the espresso equivalent of that cafeteria scene in Mean Girls, where each table is assigned a clique, but instead of “art freaks” and “plastics”, we have the undercover tech bros in their Patagonia vests drinking batch brew at Skittle Lane, the pilates girlies sipping iced oat lattes at Single O, and the tradies sliding into 7/11 for a pre-work cup of joe.

I like to move between groups, depending on my mood. Sometimes, when I want to channel my inner yogi, I’ll visit a plant-based “apothecary” in my best activewear for a $9 cacao-cashew elixir served in – I kid you not – a beaker. If I think too much about this, I start to wonder if I am being conned, but then I remember I’m paying to have my virtue rise with every bitter sip.

Other times, when I’m hungover and feeling the goblin energy, I’ll pick up some baggy tee off my bedroom floor and trudge down the road to the gloriously daggy coffee shop near my house, where they greet me with efficient service and a smile. The coffee’s good, there’s zero vibe, and I like it that way. I grab a takeaway and scurry back home before anyone can see me.

It’s not this way for everyone. For one friend of mine, coffee is all about convenience – whatever is closest will do (the Philistine!). Another prioritises cost, which is fair, although I generally think you get what you pay for.

My mum says a “view” is important, which I find hilarious. I’ve never drunk a decent coffee in a cafe with a view. “Friendly service” was mentioned, and “a hot barista” came up more than once, which I can relate to – I think this informed my choice of coffee shop for most of my early 20s. One friend went as far as to claim that “not being busy” was a reason to go somewhere, which I did not dignify with a response.

If only we could find the perfect spot. One with friendly service, a hot barista, delicious coffee, a good vibe (remember, this means cool people go there), not too expensive (I draw the line at $7 for a small soy latte), not too cheap (suss), and the perfect amount of busy. I’m not fussed about the view.

If you know one, please share. Until then, I’ll be enduring the folks who hate me – but at least I’ll look cool while I do it.

Bella Westaway is a freelance writer and editor.

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