Originally published by The Clifton Courier, June 3, 2020

Ok, so I’m a coffee drinker.

I’ve spoken about this before, which was a bit of a surprise to some of those in my inner circle who knew me as a strict tea drinker.

But I wouldn’t say that being a coffee drinker is part of my identity. I’m a long way off that. If I had to choose sides, I would of course be on the Tea Team (or TEAm, as we’d call ourselves).

And, in terms of coffee fiends, I’m pretty low rung.

This became apparent when I ordered a takeaway coffee not long ago. I gave the barista my usual order – “a large latte, but can I have that half strength please?” – after which they usually ask for a name to call out when my order is ready.

But on this particular day, they didn’t.

So when it came to the point where they had to call me to collect my warm, mildly-caffeinated milky beverage, they didn’t have a name to shout above the chattering masses. Instead, they could only call out my coffee order.

But instead of saying “a large latte but can I have that half strength please” they called out “weak latte”.

And let me tell you, I was taken aback.

I felt like retorting that, even though my latte was weak, I was a strong woman.

I’ve told a few people that story, any now there’s one cheeky person who, on their last coffee run, apparently insisted on the barista writing “weak latte” on my cup.

I went as far as to post it on Instagram, where I argued that the concentration of coffee in my warm milk didn’t correlate with the concentration of spirit in my soul. But there’s only so much you can put into a Instagram caption before you become a bit much. And, as someone who is routinely referred to as “a bit much” (which is a polite way of saying “geeez, I’m already sick of this person and her obnoxious carrying on”) in person, you really want to veer away from being “a bit much” on social media. That’s how you get yourself blocked.

But I still had more say and, because I can’t go to the pub and therefore can’t have a boozy heart-to-heart with the unfortunate Uber driver charged with getting me home, I’ve decided to do so via this column.

I think it’s important to point out that I don’t drink coffee because I need it. I like the taste and I enjoy the sensation of a hot coffee cup in my hand. I like the grown-up aura drinking a coffee gives me. I enjoy the feeling of importance I get from going out for a coffee run and others entrust me to supply their caffeine. It’s kind of like playing offices, which was my favourite game as a child.

I like coffee, but I don’t NEED it.

Back in the day, I used coffee exclusively to get me through long, late-night drives in my uni days, when I needed to get back to Clifton after being kept awake by assignments and… other uni-related activities. It was a sleep repellent and nothing else.

But I’m not one of those people who desperately needs a coffee to get them going in the morning. Some people need coffee to give them that spark, the spring in their step. But I, as I’ve learned after years in various office and early-morning burger-selling settings, I don’t need coffee. Because I’m one of those Morning People.

Again, a Morning Person is a polite way of describing someone insufferably obnoxious, but with the added annoyance of being chirpy, alert and, worst of all, enthusiastic about life, in the early hours of the day.

My Morning Person-ness becomes extra apparent to those colleagues of mine lucky enough to be on shift with me at 4.30am*. And, hey, even as a Morning Person, I have to admit that starting at 4.30am can be tough. So when you’re Not a Morning Person starting work at 4.30am and the Morning People are within earshot, flapping about with their unwarranted joy and diabolical energy, it would be pretty hard to stomach.

* The other day my chirpy greeting was compared to the great Frank Walker, of National Tiles fame. And they weren’t wrong. That’s the kind of pep they’re slapped with early in the day. And it’s almost like the earlier it is, the peppier I get. Because when it’s earlier, it’s harder to be alive and it’s almost like I feed off this grimness as an act of defiance. I’m sure there’s some kind of legitimate psychological reasoning behind it, but for now I like to put it down to the classic Queenslander underdog complex kicking in. 

Adding coffee to that energy seems like it would be extremely reckless.

So I suppose that, by getting a weak latte, I’m not only protecting myself from a caffeine addiction, but I’m also doing a public service.

I guess that means I’m some kind of hero?