Sunday Morning at the Coffeehouse
It’s 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday, and the café is still waking up. The air smells like clean countertops and yesterday’s roasted beans. Mia and I are already moving through our opening routine — putting out the pastries, brewing the first batch of drip, and quietly trying to convince our brains to start functioning.
Weekends mean fun donuts: ube and sprinkled, all the colorful ones that make people stop mid-order and say, “Ooh, what’s that one?” Mia arranges them like they’re little pieces of art while I take on my usual morning ritual: dialing in the espresso.
If the grinder is cooperating, it’s quick work. If not… well, that’s when the real patience practice begins. Today, it’s being dramatic. I’m wrestling with the Amoret decaf and the single origin of the week, both determined to test my willpower. Meanwhile, Mia and I still haven’t sipped our own coffee, the ultimate irony of opening shift life.
By 7 a.m., Bianka walks in, looking just as sleepy as we are. We open the doors right on time, ready to greet the few early risers brave enough to be out this early on a Sunday. Usually, the first hour is quiet. Most people are still blissfully asleep, something we all wish we were doing except for our regular, Max. She’s here right at 7, like clockwork, for her 12-oz latte. It’s comforting, in a way, a reminder that even sleepy Sundays have their rituals.
Around 8, Ale comes in with the fresh donuts for the day. He does it all, and the three of us greet him with smiles (and Mia’s usual teasing about him being “late,” even though he never is). By now, the café smells amazing, and we’re finally starting to wake up. Our favorite regular, Lauren, strolls in with her killer bob and her effortless morning cheer that somehow makes everyone’s day a little brighter.
Of course, things aren’t always as smooth as they look from the other side of the counter. Behind the bar, there’s milk spilled across the floor, a shot of espresso that refuses to dial in, or the occasional moment of chaos when the milk runs out mid-rush. Somehow, we make it all look easy, or at least try to.
By 10 a.m., everyone in Highwood seems to have decided it’s coffee time. The line grows, the orders stack up, and Bianka and I fall into the rhythm we’ve built over two years together. I’m pulling shots while she’s steaming milk, and Mia’s on register, moving the line with her quick smile. Katelyn, who came in at 8, is restocking muffins and reading my mind when I ask her to top off the espresso hopper.
There’s a blur of motion — pulling, steaming, chatting — and in between, I’m running to grab milk, clean dishes, and ask customers about their weekend plans. Someone’s kid had a birthday party, and someone else just got back from a trip. It’s funny how much you can learn about people in the thirty seconds it takes for an espresso shot to extract.
By 11:30, the rush slows. The café hums at a comfortable pace again. We restock, wipe down, and breathe. The morning soundtrack shifts to early 2000s hits, and the jokes start rolling, the kind of laughter that makes the exhaustion worth it.
Around noon, our favorite family arrives for their Sunday ritual: a few board games, some pastries, and lots of laughter. Their daughter always brings her sketches and little handwritten notes telling us how much she appreciates us. It’s the highlight of our day
Sunday mornings at the café are a mix of chaos, caffeine, and camaraderie. From spilled milk to perfect shots, sleepy starts to shared laughs, it’s all part of the rhythm behind the bar. We may look calm from the outside, but inside, it’s a dance, and somehow, it always ends in a smile.
Alo Ochoa
Alo is often found behind the bar at the Highwood Cafe. When she's not crafting drinks, she's listening to history podcasts or perfecting her latest baking creation