Thursday, May 25, 2006

there's no place like starbucks...

I swung by Suburbagas for a jug of coffee this morning, and made my usual selection of Highly Caffeinated French Roast. I usually choose French Roast, skipping over the myriad of other choices, like Colombian, Organic, or that dreadful flavored Macadamia Nut/Amaretto/Bubble Gum bullshit. I don’t even venture a gaze at the Decaffeinated Coffee and Tea section, because I’m not elderly. I stick with my French Roast, and I feel good about it.
I always select the biggest coffee cup size, which I believe is upwards of 20 oz. I fill it 7/8th of the way with French Roast and the remaining 1/8th with low fat milk. I then deposit 3-4 packets of Splenda, the number being based on my mood, and put 2 back-up packets in my handbag for my desk drawer of non-perishable condiments.
My Suburbagas coffee routine is down to a science. And while this coffee is indeed purchased at a gas station for $1.75, I have the utmost confidence that this is decent coffee. I mean, they have a neon sign proclaiming a blinking “JAVA!”
Clearly, I frequent the pinnacle of coffee connoisseur gas stations.
So you can imagine my dismay when my former friend Mohammed left the “Employees Only” door open and I was able to witness the various coffee thermos’ being filled with what was clearly freeze-dried dust. Italian Roast, Colombian Roast, Organic Blend even that goddamn Macadamia Mint Malarkey is all basically generic Folger’s from the same Costco bag.
I felt like Dorothy discovering Oz hiding behind the curtain.
“Uh, Mohammed, what are you doing?”
“Oh, I make the coffee. What? I run out of French Roast?”
“No, no. I got my coffee already. But, uh, how do I know it’s really French Roast?”
“I no understand. You always get French Roast.”
“Yes. Yes, I do. But it appears that French Roast is the same as everything else.”
With great nonchalance, he replies, “No, I separate decaf.”
“Okay. So within the caffeinated milieu, it’s all the same.”
“You know what I do for you?”
“You trick me, Mohammed!”
“No, no. You like the coffee, yes?”
“I guess. I feel so betrayed.”
“No, no. I give you coffee today. Free coffee for you.”
“Thanks.”
“Relax. Is no big deal. How you think I stay in business? What I can do for you?”
I sighed. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Good, good.” He said, waving me away and going back to his thermos of lies.
I took a sip of coffee and noticed nothing different. Truth be told, I really don’t care. I mean, I’m buying coffee at a gas station for Christ’s sake. What the hell do I expect? Still, I grabbed some extra Splenda on my way out just for spite.
Take that, Mohammed…

3 comments:

b.t.o.b. said...

"thermos of lies"... nice one.

KG said...

classic! I love it.
mmm french roast coffee, we should go to blue bottle, you have to try their New Orleans french roast...the best this side of the Mississippi.

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