A good customer knows the café is not a temple, but it is not a drive-through either. It is a place of work and care, of heat and noise and craft. You do not need to bow, but you do need to see. See the barista’s hands move like they are building something with meaning. See the line behind you. See the others waiting for their moment. If you see, then you already know.
Speak clearly. You don’t need to be clever. You don’t need to impress. Order what you want and know what that means. If you ask for a flat white, then trust that it will come as it should. If you want something strange, ask kindly. Ask like someone who knows the world does not revolve around their taste for cinnamon or syrup or four extra shots. Some cafés will say yes. Some will say no. It does not make them wrong.
When it is busy, be patient. The espresso takes the same time no matter how fast the world spins. The milk must be stretched and poured with care. The cup must feel right in the hand. If it’s done well, it will not come fast. And if it comes fast, it will not be done well. That is the rule. That is the truth behind every good drink.
Say thank you. Or “thank-you so much”. It costs nothing. And if the coffee is good, say it out loud. Baristas do not work for praise, but it helps. They work early and hard. They are burnt by steam, and their backs ache, and they carry more than you see. A kind word can land like cool water on hot stone.
You do not need to stay long. You can drink and go. Or you can sit and read and watch the street and let the coffee open your chest like it once opened ports and cities and trade routes. But if the place is full and others are waiting, know when your time is up. Know when the table must turn.
You do not tip in Melbourne. Not always. But sometimes you leave a coin or two, folded into a smile. And sometimes you just come back. That is enough. The good customers return, not because they must, but because they know something true is made here, day after day, shot after shot, and they are lucky to drink it.
