Before Covid, a barista would sometimes recognize my face when I walked in so that by the time I reached the counter, my shots were poured. 

Then the pandemic hit and things changed. Everyone established new routines. New habits. New phobias. New brands. And it was months before I found myself setting out for the local cafe again, this time for the drive through. 

I went every Saturday for a few weeks and on the fourth visit, a new employee, a pandemic hire, predicted my order at the intercom. 

My voice isn’t special. Nothing about me is special. I am essentially the Greyman without the requisite killing skills. 

But there it was, the obligatory exchange of good mornings, followed by:

“Double espresso, right?”

Here’s where you ask about the aperture located on the bottom left hand corner of the menu just above the two way speaker. Does this not provide a visual of each customer?

Apparently not. Just for security at this location. 

So she’d recognized my voice and predicted my order in less time than it took for someone to catch on when I was visiting the place in person. 

And this got me thinking about the dentist. 

It had been over a year since my last visit. I’d been on the cancellation list and when they called, I happened to be in a position to accept. 

Because of which, I had a different than usual hygienist, who turned out to be just as pleasant, thorough and fastidious as Rose, so much so that before I knew it, the dentist had popped in for the final appraisal.

As he inspected, the hygienist provided a play by play which concluded with: “…and there’s some recession on thirty, thirty-one and eighteen which is concerning.”

“I think we’re ok,” the dentist said. “It’s been like that for years.”

Then he left. 

As the hygienist typed, I asked her how many patients the dentist had. 

Thousands, she responded. 

Would he have taken a look at my file before coming in?

Probably not. 

When I said nothing further, she added, “he wouldn’t have remembered you. He would have recognized your mouth.”

As I drove home, I thought of all the students I’d taught last year who’d insisted on keeping their cameras off. About how difficult I’d assumed it would be to connect meaningfully with a class of learners represented by a grid of profile pictures in a sea of black. And about how surprised I was at the end of the year when I realized I’d enjoyed their company despite the lack of face to face. 

It all comes down to branding.

To some, we’re a voice. 

To others, we’re a set of teeth. 

To most, we’re profile pictures. 

However we are represented, what ultimately matters is the product underpinning the brand, and the fact is, within each of us, there is an espresso, nuanced and complex, that rarely get poured let alone tasted. 

There’s no shame in sticking to Starbucks. The stock isn’t trading at thirty times its value for no reason. It’s just that sometimes, you have to look past the brand because without a marketing team, a profile picture can go unnoticed. 

And I hate to see a good espresso go to waste. 

JM.