This article originally appeared on MUNCHIES.I long to be sitting street-side at a café on a crisp day, warmed by the steam rising off my Italian espresso. I love the allure of a cup of coffee.I just don't love the taste of it. Actually, I kind of really hate how it tastes. And for that reason, I've never had a whole cup of coffee in my entire life. You're already judging me, I know.Most people have a hard time believing that I don't drink coffee. Apparently, non-coffee drinkers are a rare breed nowadays. Starting the morning with a cup of caffeinated bean water has become so integrated in our professional lives and pursuits that surely, they say, I must have had one by now—but truthfully, I haven't.
Advertisement
Until recently, I hadn't even stopped to wonder if the absence of something that is so important in so many people's lives had created a meaningful void in my own. But looking back, I now recognize three defining moments that demonstrated to me that abstaining from coffee has its repercussions.The first moment took place when I was just beginning my career as a writer. I had been emailing, cold-calling, and exhausting my connections for weeks, and finally, I got a notification in my inbox, subject line: 'Coffee?'I had landed a coveted job interview, and I was stoked, anticipating my big break. I responded excitedly without mentioning my distaste for coffee, because why would I? Surely, the coffee shop must have other beverages on offer, I figured.
The morning of, I was as nervous as in the minutes before a particularly high-stakes first date—except worse, because this person also had the potential to pay me a salary. I threw on my most impressive wares, put on my best hype song, and made my way to the coffee shop. I arrived confidently, and exchanged pleasantries in the cashier line with this potentially life-changing person. She ordered a mocha.I opted for a bottle of water.I knew that not drinking coffee didn't make me utterly unhireable, but it sparked a dangerous question about whether I could participate in what she perceived as an important component of office culture.
Advertisement
The vibe of the interview instantly changed from open and friendly to stiff and standoffish. She asked me if I wanted anything else; I told her that I was simply thirsty from my walk over and am not, as it happens, a coffee-drinker. As if a good first impression isn't hard enough to make, try adding the roasted scent of silent judgement in the air. I sensed that she felt uncomfortable for inviting me to a coffee shop only for me to decide that the hundred-some-odd options on the menu wouldn't suffice for my tastes."Good for you!" she said out loud, but her face read more like, "You pretentious asshole." I knew that not drinking coffee didn't make me utterly unhireable, but it sparked a dangerous question about whether I could participate in what she perceived as an important component of office culture. And as hard as I tried to seem like someone she could hang out with over a hot beverage, it was harder to break through without a mutual love for mochas.My next instance of anti-coffee adversity arose after I landed a job, when it came to solidifying my social status at the office. Apparently, it isn't as easy for non-coffee drinkers—at least in my experience, which took place during my third month at my first job in New York City. I was in a then-habitual slump over my desk, consumed by something or other on my screen. I looked up from my laptop and suddenly noticed that everyone seemed to have left. It was only 3 PM. Did we have the afternoon off? Was everyone hanging out without me? Spoiler alert: They most certainly were.
Advertisement
About 15 minutes later, I heard laughter and footsteps as I glanced at my colleagues in attempts to exchange a "Hey guys, please remember to invite me next time" smile. But they wouldn't, because as I soon found out from my first coveted work friend, I wasn't in the office "Coffee Time" Slack channel, and there are only so many times you can attempt to invite yourself to something before you seem desperate.When I finally mustered up the courage to ask said friend why I wasn't invited on these coffee runs, she explained it in terms I could finally understand, which were as follows: When out having a cocktail, many people wouldn't choose to drink with a teetotaler. Coffee is the daytime, office-appropriate equivalent of alcohol, and the social culture surrounding it is very much the same. It wasn't that my coworkers didn't like me as a person; it's that they didn't want to get coffee with someone who doesn't drink coffee in the same way that many people wouldn't want to drink a couple of martinis on a date with someone who's having a 7-Up.No matter how hard I tried to voice how few fucks I gave if someone drank coffee around me, it had almost nothing to do with my actual feelings. Someone who feels addicted to coffee might feel judged in such a situation; every time I came on a coffee run, someone would comment on how "healthy" I was (oddly enough, since coffee is proven to have many health benefits), when in reality, I just don't like the taste. By failing to connect with what my coworkers saw as their vice, I may have seemed holier-than-thou. (Rest assured, I have many vices of my own.)It wasn't that my coworkers didn't like me as a person; it's that they didn't want to get coffee with someone who doesn't drink coffee in the same way that many people wouldn't want to drink a couple of martinis on a date with someone who's having a 7-Up.
Advertisement
Beyond being an outsider during these daily moments of bonding, what really got to me was the casual brainstorming sessions I was excluded from—which brings me to the third issue with not drinking coffee: missed opportunities. In the editorial world, creative conversational riffing is everything, and the eureka moments that could spawn the next issue's cover story are rare. I learned the hard way that a lot of these decisions are made over cups of coffee.Walking through the office one day, I overheard (well, eavesdropped on) a conversation between two coworkers on the edit team as they fleshed out the details of an incredible idea they had (a celebrity exposé for the next issue's cover story); as you can probably guess, it was conceived on their last caffeine run. As I tried to chime in and offer input, I realized that I was too late. I wasn't there when the idea was born, so I would have little say in where it would go.It was at that moment that I decided I could either force myself to like the taste of coffee, move to Los Angeles, or put in the extra effort to bond in other ways. In regards to the latter, I realized that all I would need to do is find another consistent avenue of self-deprecating relatability. Friendships and acquaintances fall into categories of shared interests: The fancy latte enthusiasts meet for coffee; the office lushes go to happy hour; the watchers of garbage TV convene to chat about the latest episodes of their preferred reality soap opera, and so on.Bonding is just about having a mutual weakness or habit that gives you an excuse to hang out, something to talk about, and a semblance of insight into your taste in things.Luckily for me, I watch The Bachelor.
This article originally appeared on MUNCHIES in October 2017.
This article originally appeared on MUNCHIES in October 2017.