For fun, I sometimes guess people’s orders. As a customer walks into the cafe, I look them up and down. As he or she approaches the counter, I guess their order.

Perhaps, I’m stereotyping. I prefer to think of it as recognising patterns. As I’ve talked about in The Coffee Complex, there are strong correlations between the type of person you are and your coffee order. I say that. But I’m only right about ten per cent of the time.

Last week, though, an older gentleman was ordering. He was burly and wore a polo shirt. And before he could say anything, I said, “Let me guess, a flat white, extra hot.”

“Yes?” he said, looking at me with deep suspicion. Have I been in here before? Do I know this man?, I imagine he was asking himself.

Then he drew a deep breath and said, “Also, do you do an iced almond latte with an extra shot and honey?”

“We do,” I said. He was alone. But the order obviously wasn’t for him. That’s why I said, “Want me to make your granddaughter’s coffee now or when she arrives?” I said granddaughter for obvious reasons. The majority of almond drinkers are women who can’t stand the idea of being bloated. Also, women are more nurturing than men. They tend to care about cows more.

The other reason is that women, especially young women, are more flexible coffee drinkers. They change with the seasons. If the temperature is 40 degrees, then a younger person will change to an iced coffee. They also adapt to changing fads. Six years ago, she would’ve drunk soy milk, two years ago, almond, and now oat.

Older customers, especially men, though, are more fixed. They tend to order the same coffee—season after season, year after year.

. . .

There’s a regular at my coffee shop. He's an older gentleman, too. And he looks like a retired businessman. Every day, he rocks up at the same time (at 7:30 am), wearing the same clothes and, at the counter, says, “Extra hot flat white, sugar, for Gary.” Every day damn day. And he’s so serious.

“How are you Gary,” I said once.

“Extra hot flat white, sugar, for Gary.” Then Gary stood holding his card out.

Nice chat.

One day, when Gary approached the bench, I said to him, “A soy latte with a marshmallow for James?” You know, as a bit of fun. Even Gary would’ve got that.

But Gary stood frowning. “No,” he said. “Extra hot flat white, sugar, for Gary.” There was no point explaining the joke.

Sometimes, Gary even finishes your sentences if you don’t say that exact line.

“Just an extra hot flat white with a sugar?” I asked.

“Yep. For Gary,” he said.

Or: “A flat white for Gary?” I asked.

“Yep. Extra hot, sugar,” he clarified.

I KNOW, GARY. You’ve only been coming in here for three years.

To his credit, though, we never get his coffee wrong. Though copious repetition, his order is now buried deep in our unconscious. So much so, when another customer called Gary ordered his cappuccino, I made him an extra hot flat white, sugar, for Gary. The mere mentioning of the name triggered an automated response. He’d bloody hypnotised me.

. . .

Back to the grandaughter thing. The coffee had honey. Honey is for people who want the sweetness of sugar but want to sound more dainty. The blue-collar order sugar. The white-collar order honey. More women order honey. So that’s why I was imagining the gentleman’s companion being his granddaughter. Also, I was on a roll, feeling confident. I had that gut instinct.

“No. You can make the coffee now,” the gentleman said. “My son is on his way.”

Shit, I thought. Way off.

Still, I imagined the man would be unlike his macho father. Definitely more petite. More fashionable. Maybe he worked in marketing. Or some other job surrounded by women. But I even got that wrong. The son looked like a truckie. Not in an objectionable way. He was just so manly. His biceps barely squeezed through the arm sleeve.

Being so completely wrong was a handy reminder. There may be strong patterns and correlations. But if you get too confident, these loose predictions can quickly turn into stereotyping. And I don’t want to be that guy.

Anyway, I liked watching the customer—who was seriously Australia’s answer to the Rock—sipping on his strong iced almond latter with honey. And I was about to give up on the whole guessing-people’s-coffee thing for good when the son’s phone went off. The ringtone was Justin Bieber. He answered and after about five seconds, he said: “Oh. My. Gawsh. That is so-o-o-o- funny.” Okay, I thought to myself. Maybe you weren’t so wrong after all.

. . .

Join the club. Sign up for my newsletter.