I have never been a coffee drinker.
On occasion, when I lived in New Orleans, I would have a Cafe Au Lait at that famous beignet store in the Quarter, because That’s What You Do. That’s it, though.
When I was in Paris, I greatly offended my French coworkers by ordering Coke instead of coffee at lunch. I didn’t have the heart to tell them it’s what I had for breakfast as well. When I was going to Chicago, I once ate at some snooty, high-end, jacket-required restaurant1 where the waiter actually snorted when I ordered a Coke, and said, “I’ll surprise you.”
So, after many years of being a social pariah for not taking part in the worship of the bean, it’s somewhat disturbing to find that I’ve been having a cup or two a day since last Tuesday. Last Friday morning, I chatted with my mother over coffee, which is the sort of thing adults do.
It started when my waitress at the hotel in El Paso put a cup in front of me without asking whether I wanted it or not. I drank it, because no other drinks were offered, and I noticed later in the day that I hadn’t had the urge for my morning Coke.
It smells nice, though it doesn’t taste particularly good nor particularly bad. It lacks the complication of tea, with it’s stirring and seeping and teabag/tea leaf disposal. In contrast, there’s always a pot brewing here at work, for free. It still contains that nasty caffeine and tooth staining color that Coke carries, but it lacks sugar (at least mine does), so I’m one step ahead of the game there.
Look at me. Dressing in khakis and drinking coffee. Hopefully, we’ll never invent time travel so my 13 year old self won’t have to find out what a loser I’ve become.
1 Biggs was the name of the place. The only reason I was there was that my then-girlfriend’s father was a doctor. He had saved (or rather, extended for a while longer than expected) the life of some bigwig who lived in Chicago, and out of gratitude gave the GF a gift certificate to this way-too-expensive restaurant. Among the many gaffes I made was wearing tennis shoes and pants with a hole in the knee. At least they were my best pants and shoes, but that only works on a relative level and I couldn’t find a way to explain that to our waiter. At the end of the evening, we handed him the gift certificate and he smiled as if that explained it all.
I thought to pick up dinner at Whole Foods last night. I had to leave because the music was too loud.
Ain’t it, though?
I thought the same thing when I was at Chuck E. Cheese yesterday afternoon.
I’m going to take your kid to play (at) tennis. He’ll probably hit me with the racquet. But I won’t take him to Chuck E. Cheese, so don’t ask me to.
I don’t think he’ll hit you with the racquet until he gets to know you better. But when he does, you’ll know you’ve arrived.
Of course, then again, you may have already arrived. He kept asking after you for the rest of Sunday.
If I’d known I was going to have to bag tennis and lie on the sofa, he could have come home with me and watched a movie and eaten cookies till he popped.
Now you’re talkin’ his language.
They put drugs in the coffee, you know.
Save yourself before it’s too late!!!
Mmmm…. drugs.
I never, ever drank coffee (except sometimes with dessert at nice restaurants) for the first 25 years or so of my life. Then came along, and made fresh pots of coffee with freshly ground beans, and I was turned around completely, and now I not only drink it every morning, I have to drink it black. I think the flavor has a certain body and a mild bitterness that one learns to appreciate. Sort of like soy sauce.
Most “office coffee” made with those Bunn-O-Matics, or coffee at fast food restaurants, is so unspeakably vile it doesn’t even qualify as the same beverage, as far as I’m concerned.
Most “office coffee” made with those Bunn-O-Matics, or coffee at fast food restaurants, is so unspeakably vile it doesn’t even qualify as the same beverage, as far as I’m concerned.
Even so, my inner 12-year-old snickers at the very thought of the Bunn-O-Matic.
Most “office coffee” made with those Bunn-O-Matics, or coffee at fast food restaurants, is so unspeakably vile it doesn’t even qualify as the same beverage, as far as I’m concerned.
Oh. That’s the stuff I’m drinking.
I’ll call it the Unspeakably Vile Beverage, or perhaps The Beverage That Shall Not Be Named.
If you can drink that stuff just wait until you try real coffee. I hear your wife can get you some caribou. (Stay away from Starbucks, there is a reason they mix so much milk and sugar in what they serve.)
I would like the record to show that despite my love of coffee, I played no role in this metamorphoses.
Most “office coffee” made with those Bunn-O-Matics, or coffee at fast food restaurants, is so unspeakably vile it doesn’t even qualify as the same beverage, as far as I’m concerned.
One of the perks of GS is that Caribou supplies our coffee beans during the season – so off season, we move everything to the administration floor and brew fresh ground Caribou coffee all day long. Unlike the Ballet, where we were forced to drink swill.