When I get my morning coffee every morning, I get the biggest smile on my face.

It’s not just its rich aroma and the sweet, creamy taste. It’s because I know exactly what’s gone into it.

Besides the pumps of syrup, steamed non-fat milk and a dollop of foam, there is the blood, sweat and tears of the barista who made it.

I say this from experience. I spent four years as a barista for a major coffee conglomerate.

It was exhausting work. Long lines. Demanding customers all with a made-to-order beverage. Hundreds (maybe thousands) of recipes. Pitchers and pitchers of five kinds of milk. Spills. And so much more.

And I loved every minute of it. My years making lattes and recommending pastry were some of the most joyful and enriching of my life.

I learned some pretty interesting information, like the roasting process of a coffee bean, how to steam a 2-litre pitcher of milk perfectly and how to calibrate a machine for the best shot of espresso.

But I also learned about people. I learned about connecting, interacting and engaging. And that has served me every day since I was hired there.

I had never planned to get a job serving coffee. I was in university and in desperate need of a summer job when met someone at a party who said she would refer me. I put in my application, was hired two weeks later and before I knew it, I had a thick training manual and 10-shift training plan.

My first store was very big and very busy. Over two weeks different managers, coaches and trainers worked with me to show me the ropes amid the line ups of customers. We brewed coffee in a French press, conducted tastings, pulled shots of espresso, learned about adding the right amount of pumps of syrup into four sizes of cups and set up the pastry case full of delicious goodies.

At night after work I would collapse into bed exhausted and exhilarated. My eyes twitched after all the caffeine. But I didn’t care.

The big test came on my first solo shift. I was excited. I put on a dress shirt and tie, donned a crisp, clean apron, affixed a shiny new, “Certified Barista” pin and headed for the bar.

It was a Friday night and the evening was alive. My store was in a busy shopping plaza and dozens were milling about, lining up for drinks in between grocery shopping, heading to the movies or jumping on the highway to get out of town for the weekend.

My job was simple. Steam 2-litre pitchers of 2 percent and non-fat milk for the continuous line up of drinks.

I would do this for four straight hours. My friend Leah worked next to me – stopping at intervals to adjustmy practices, making sure I got the best foam. And together we chatted with thecustomers as they waited.

The shift had been great fun. When it was over, my shirt and tie were covered in splashes of milk and syrup. My shoes were sticky. I smelled of coffee. But I still loved it and couldn’t wait for the next day.

As the weeks went on I mastered the once complicated drink menu. I steamed great milk and pulled great shots. I made countless presses for perfect pairings. And after a few Friday nights, I could master the bar alone – steaming two pitchers at once, shots pulling, blenders going all while making a cappuccino with the “perfect pour.”

I felt like Tom Cruise in Cocktail. I was disappointed my supervisors wouldn’t let me twirl cups and bottles of syrup in the air as I worked.

But very quickly I came to see that the best part was the people. I met wonderful people as I made those drinks.

There was a dizzying array of multicultural, socioeconomic, spiritual, interesting and sometimes strange people to serve everyday, all giving you a few minutes and a few dollars in exchange for a cup of coffee.

Customers, and what brought them there, was diverse. There were business people on the way to meetings. Moms on the go. College students holding a study group. Actors working on location. First dates. Last dates. The after church fellowship group. The running group crowd.

Looking out into the café revealed an interesting bevy of activity. Meetings were held. Artists created. Moms breast fed. People played cards and board games. Couples snuggled.

Part of the fun became referring to people by their drink.

“Grande Green Tea, how are you doing today,” I’d say. And with a smile he would go off about his wonderful girlfriend, the eventual engagement, marriage and setting up their first house.

There was Doppio Espresso in every Sunday morning. He’d welcome dozens of guests and when he’d leave, he’d pick up the cheque for most of them and leave a good tip.

Grande Lactaid with Cinnamon Chai was in many days through her maternity leave. Her son had been born very premature and every visit she’d update us with his progress.

I eventually took breaks with her and she let me snuggle her wee baby while she’d tell me stories of her mother in the Virgin Islands, her steel drum band, her job as a teacher and different ideas for inventions she’d have.

I learned a lot from that customer. I’m sure others did as well. She’s just one of many over four years who came in for coffee and gave so much more in return.

After four years, I quit my job at the coffee shop. The company had changed and so had I. But I was very grateful and carry the memories to this day.

In theory, it was all just coffee. But the experience was so much more. I learned some unique skills. I met so many people and had the opportunity to add a little something to their day.

And they gave something to mine, every day, for the four years I worked there. And they will continue to come to mind every morning, putting a smile on my face, when I have my Grande, Half Sweet, Soy, No Water, 140 degree, Extra Foamy Chai Latte.