First, I laughed. Then, I cried. Then, I shook my fist in the air.
Oh, coffee, you temptress! Those of us who are
Like the morning a few years ago, when I was working a wicked early shift. So there I was, at 3:15 in the morning (groan!), attempting to make coffee.
I ran the first basket with no grounds in it. Uhhhhhhh…whyfor is coffee-stuff not black? Why is clear-like-water…?
Then I got distracted by interior dialog while running the grinder and over-ground the beans (making it more of a coffee powder than grounds) and, without pausing to consider what usually happens when you attempt to run coffee powder through an espresso machine, ran it again – naturally, it backed right up and flooded the counter. (There is a fine line between “espresso fine grind” and “powder”…believe me, I am an expert in this line and where it lies…)
Eventually, persistence won the day and, steaming cup of frothy latte goodness in fist (I forgot both cocoa powder and sugar but decided that a nice latte sounded just fine), I headed out to the car.
Got in the car. Drove away.
Discovered a few minutes later that I’d left the travel mug on the roof of the car. ARGH! OK, you know what? I don’t care anymore. Hang the expense. I am buying myself a mocha.
So I paid $4 for a ridiculously large cup of motivation. We’re talking about the Super Big Gulp of mochas, here. HUGE. Took two hands to lift it.
I got about two-three sips of it, and the lid popped off. Instead of saying, “Oh my gracious, look at that, the lid appears to have popped off” and popping it back on, I went, “AAAAAAH! LID LID LID! AAAAH! LID! COFFEE!! OFF-LID-COFFEE-AAAAAAAAAH!” and during the accompanying spasm of panic dumped the entire 429 ounces of hot liquid all over myself and the interior of the car.
You’d think that would have been enough. That I would have acknowledged that the Universe was clearly saying, “No coffee for you today, honey” and maybe gotten myself a nice cup of tea at the office.
I angrily veered off the freeway, into the nearest Starbucks, ordered a mocha, grabbed about six trees worth of napkins, vigorously smeared the last accident into my clothing (I was too tired and furious to remember that I should gently blot at rather than violently grind in the stain), and stormed out…without my mocha.
The barista, bless her, chased me down in the parking lot, brandishing my mocha and shrieking, “Ma’am? MA’AM? YOU FORGOT YOUR DRINK!!!!”
At this point, I realized that I simply should not be attempting Life uncaffeinated. So, I sat in my car, in the parking lot, and drank it down to the last drop. I watched the sun rise over the hood of my car. I contemplated everything I was not getting done at work. I thought about how the traffic was exponentially backing up in front of me.
I thought about going ahead and, you know, getting on with the old commute.
The message was clear. I could either get on with my life, or, I could drink some coffee.
I have my priorities, people.
I was very, very late to work that day.
After taking one look at my sticky, mocha-covered person…nobody bothered to ask for an explanation.
Gee. I wonder why…