Bad Coffee Day

I find as I get older (which keeps happening no matter how much I complain) that hurrying becomes more counterproductive, a fact that the forty-year old who lives inside my head refuses to accept.   On Wednesday, I volunteer in a Twelve Step office, taking calls from people in need of help and serving as the all-around computer guy.   My normal shift is from 11 am to 2 pm but today we are having the windshield replaced on my wife’s car because a tiny chip caused by a flying stone on the freeway has begun to grow into a crack.  She would like me home to deal with the mobile windshield replacement people, scheduled to arrive between 2 and 5 pm.   Thus, my plan was to shift my hours to allow me to be home at 2.  Have I mentioned that as I get older it becomes increasingly hard to change my routine?   By the time I got out of bed, read some news on my tablet, did my morning chi gong and showered, I realized that I didn’t have time for breakfast.   Easy, the forty-year old in my head said.  We’ll brew some coffee while you get dressed, then pick up a muffin or something at Ralph’s Market when you stop to buy something for lunch.   I scurried (as much as this old body can scurry) downstairs and set up the coffee maker, then scurried up the stairs  (more slowly) to finish dressing.  As I carried my office paraphernalia to the car, I stopped to fill my travel cup with the coffee I’d brewed.   What I got was pale brown hot water.  In my haste, I’d forgotten to put the ground coffee in the basket.  Shit, says I.

Plan B, says the forty year old in my head, ever helpful.  We can pick up some coffee at the Starbucks in Ralph’s if we hurry.   I hurried to the car, forgetting my travel cup on the kitchen counter, then sped down the hill to the market.  In Ralph’s, I grabbed a sandwich, a diet coke and banana for lunch then stopped at Starbucks for a Grande Pike Place and a blueberry scone (a weakness of both me and the forty year old in my head).   Then it was off to the self checkout and a dash to the car.   Quick inventory … Diet Coke … sandwich … banana … no coffee or scone.  Back to the checkout where said breakfast was waiting patiently under the watchful eyes of a grinning Ralph’s clerk.  He said, Can’t go without that, can you?   Running late, shouted the forty year old in my head as I rushed back to the car.  You can still make it if you speed just a little.

So, the stretch of the Riverside Freeway between Imperial Highway and the Newport Freeway is a perpetual slowdown, but at least it gave me a chance to enjoy my scone and enjoy a few sips of coffee … or so I thought.  The friendly Barista hadn’t put the top on the cup securely so I poured about half a Grande into my lap … and my favorite jeans.  Ouch.  Has anyone else noticed that although Starbucks cups are appropriately liquid proof on the inside, they get soggy when wet on the outside?   I navigated the rest of my way to the office trying to drink from a soggy cup without further dousing myself with hot brew.

When my lovely wife, Muri, reads this she’ll probably tell me that I need to slow down. (my Mom would have added, You’re not getting any younger, you know).   Muri might tell me that I shouldn’t be eating while driving, something I’m sure she learned while studying for the written drivers test a month or so ago.   You, dear reader, might suggest I give up coffee, at least while driving but I caution you, depriving a Curmudgeon of his caffeine is a dangerous course of action.   Of course, I have bemoaned my Inner Forty Year Old before, even sworn to evict him from my head.   But he is very persuasive with his siren call to younger days.  But I promise you, I’ll try again to evict him and, failing that, I’ll try try to reason with him.  But really, has anyone ever been able to reason with a headstrong, forty year old man?  Take it from me … I’ve got experience.   No.

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Tags: coffee, curmudgeonly rants, feeling older, humor, senior moments

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