I sat among two other students on an otherwise empty bus as it slowed down and pulled over to the side, allowing me to step out into downtown Charlottetown. I walked between two parked cars on the side of the street and stepped inside. There it was: the old familiar scent of dark coffee as I entered my regular coffee shop. The oily aroma sneaked into my nose, topped with hints of chocolate and hazelnut. It was their Hazelnut Roast, my favorite. Just thinking of it, my brain felt the sensation of the soft, warm flavour of the sacred bean water as it washed over my tongue against my palate, before swishing down my throat to warm my insides. All around me was the regular layout of tables and chairs filled with different faces than every other time. It was all so familiar. I had walked through those doors many, many times, though this time I did not have the crushing weight of homework weighing down my back. No, this time I didn’t enter my favorite coffee shop as a customer, but as an employee. Well, sort of. It was my first day as a Co-Op student (think of an internship, but in high school). Michelle, the owner, had been dealing with the lunch rush, making sandwiches left and right. While waiting for the hustle and bustle to die down before starting, I glanced over the counter; watching, learning. Of all the afternoons I’ve spent studying here, I never took the time to observe the coffee making process. I sat tight until one of the workers began my training.

As I walked around the counter to the employee side I could feel my brain slow down my body, almost as if it were screaming “What are you doing on this side? It’s off limits!”. I took a few deep breaths, as to stop my nervous shaking. With every step I took, I could see more and more of the workspace. It was like unlocking a new level in a video game, with that satisfying weight on your shoulders you never knew existed being taken away. I wasn’t used to looking over the large thermoses impeding my line of sight from the employee side of the counter, and this novelty painted a big smile of my face. It truly was a dream come true.

However, work isn’t all unicorns and rainbows. Once the training began my brain grew full with the realities of working, compared to simply saying “Medium latte, please” on the other side. How to prepare the coffee, how much to prepare, the different types of coffee, and the list went on and on! I began absorbing the knowledge as best I could, in hopes to start applying it soon enough. I would follow around the instructor, Celia, from one end of the counter to the other, while she intermittently processed customer orders. The entire time, I would mostly be learning, as opposed to doing. I would watch them prepare lattes and hot chocolates, among other drinks. Simultaneously, they would give a little bit of a dialogue, almost like a half-explanation. The espresso machine squealed like a pig as hot steam shot into a jug of cold milk, blasting it into a spiral like a flushing toilet. I had made many a coffee at home and I expected all my knowledge of coffee to be shattered by these professionals. And shattered, it was. As of now, they had only taught what coffee preparation entails, the differences in blends, and how to pour regular coffees. From that moment on, my foundation had been laid so that I would become a knowledgeable mini-barista.

Subsequently, I did nothing but listen. Yet for some unknown reason, I became distracted by one lingering thought: what do I do with my hands? They served no purpose as of yet. Hands in pockets? That’s weird. Hands by my sides seemed weird, too, and don’t even get me started on crossing my arms. I simply decided to slide my hands in my pockets until I could be relieved of my anxiety by being told what to do. It was such a small detail, but my insecurity inflated it to the point where it took over my brain.

As customers began accumulating in a line, I still felt anxious and nervous. All these people staring at me, yet all I could do was pour coffee. Time slowed down, I looked around, my hands at my side, motionless. I would occasionally move to allow passage of real employees, and from time to time, I’d pour a coffee. I followed Celia around and observed. The occasional glances down at my watch helped to calm me down. All I could do was wait, in hopes that it would all be over soon.

As 12:20 approached, my time of departure, I looked more and more frequently at my watch. 12:10, 12:11, 12:11 and thirty seconds, 12:13… Evidently, scientists lied: time did not appear to be constant, but sped up and slowed down at will. I wanted to let Michelle know I would be leaving a few minutes before I would actually leave. All of a sudden, a burst of customers funneled through the door and I was too busy to speak with her. I kept to my short list of duties, until I looked outside the windows and noticed a large yellow rectangle parked on the side of the road: the bus! Right away, I notified Michelle, and repeatedly apologized while grabbing my coat and heading out the door. I hastily exited the café and took two big steps up the short stairs of the bus, before taking a seat and sighing in relief.