Shouts & Murmurs
Unnoticed by some, but constantly impacting the experience for everyone. One’s willingness to stay, to relax, to enjoy. Noise.
The two girls laughing and practically shouting at each other from just across the table in an attempt to tell a personal story which unfolds inevitably to the displeasure of the entire room. Crashing dishes which momentarily cut the hearing out of one of your ears.
As someone who has worked behind the counter but is also continually a client in many different coffee shops—noise is something that consistently has an enormous impact on my experience. Former colleagues smashing cups together often made it impossible to hear an order. Large grinders kicking on and off while someone asks about the origin of the coffee. A teammate yelling for help while a steam wand squeals through poorly chosen music that’s already turned up far too loud.
There are advantages to having a team. People who have your back. But too many people, too many things happening at once—this can quickly tip toward chaos. Often it’s the rush that makes slamming feel inevitable. Sometimes it’s just a poor layout or a wrong choice in flooring.
It’s easy to forget the effect all of this has on the person nearby just trying to read a book or enjoy a peaceful moment. I’ve left cafés early, not because the coffee was bad, but because the din of it all left me feeling anxious. The place was beautiful. The intentions were good. But the experience? Loud. Frantic.
Behind the bar, I used to wear earplugs that filtered sound just enough to keep me grounded. I could still talk to people, but I didn’t feel like I was being shouted at by every appliance and person around me. Of course, I’d end up explaining them to customers more than once.
So this is something I’m building around, not just adapting to.
In a wide-open countryside space, likely with hard floors and lots of natural reverberation, the risk of noise amplification is high. But the advantage is that I get to think about this from the beginning. If I’m the only one behind the bar, that already helps. Flow and pace can be shaped by reservations. No lunch rush. No five-deep queue.
Design matters. Tables spaced farther apart. High-backed chairs. Plants that soften sound and break up the room visually. Nooks, not a sea of communal tables. A space that teaches you how to be in it—without saying a word.
Behind the bar, small choices compound: extra portafilter baskets so I don’t need to knock one out immediately. A knock box integrated into the counter. Quiet grinders. Dishwashers with soundproof housing. Everything installed in ways that keep the hum low.
The goal is not to control people but to create an environment that offers each group its own pocket of calm. A place where you’re not held hostage by someone else’s noise.
The last thing I want is for someone to say, “We were so excited to visit—but the assholes next to us ruined it.”
Instead, I want them to leave feeling restored. That they were welcomed into a space that made room for them—intentionally, quietly. A place that spoke not with volume, but with care.