Calvin arrives at the coffee shop 30 minutes before opening the doors to customers.
It’s enough time to turn the machine on and then taste the recipe with a couple of expressos. It’s an alchemy of measurements: the right amount of pre-ground coffee, the correct water temperature.
The bakery guys where there at 5 am, so Calvin only needs a few minutes to display the fresh cakes.
I’m unaware of all these rituals. I only know that it will be open at 8.00 am, and if I get there first, I will take the first sip of my cappuccino at 8.05.
That first sip of caffeine is a highlight of my day. I walk 20 minutes to get it and experience the perfect flavour, that warm coffee in my lips. The butterfly Calvin draw with milk made it a total delight.
All because Calvin was there on time, he tasted it before, the calibre was perfect, the place was clean and in order. And he knows how to prepare and serve a proper art, creamy, cappuccino.
It’s a work of love. He’s been perfecting it for years.
It’s his job. He shows up every day, delivering.
I want to be like Calvin: my art is not coffee making, but writing and telling stories with words.
It is my work even when nobody pays me anything for it. And because I care I will show up every day. Test some words, test some others, and slowly craft a story and serve it in the hope it will delight someone somewhere. On-time.