I Cannot Be Responsible For My Own Actions Before I Have Coffee, Including That Time Spent Making It
Let me pass along some BREAKING NEWS from my kitchen.
What? My kitchen doesn’t have breaking news all that often. Give it
a break. When was the last time YOUR kitchen had something to share?
Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.
Okay, so, anyway, for those of you who don’t have stuck-up kitchens
that share things ALL THE TIME, here’s something fun from mine. Do you
know the little spring-loaded gadget that’s in your coffeemaker? The
one that allows you to pull the coffeepot out while coffee is still
brewing, BECAUSE THERE IS NO WAY YOU COULD WAIT THREE MORE MINUTES FOR
IT TO FINISH? This little device acts as a stopper under the brew
basket.
That is, it does when it WORKS. Because mine no longer DOES. I
know this because this morning, I grabbed the coffeepot and began to
fill my Vancouver mug with Kenyan coffee, transfixed by the beautiful
cascade from glass pot to ceramic mug. After a few seconds of mystical
reverie, I gradually became aware that there were TWO beautiful
cascades happening. One was cascading into my mug; the other was
gushing urgently onto the warmer, bubbling and hissing and skittering
off onto the countertop.
And then I had a problem, obviously. Because I had a mug in my left
hand, a coffeepot in my right hand, and no more hands. My brain is
commanding me to SAVE THE COFFEE, but what the heck am I supposed to
do? Stick my head under there and drink it straight out of the
machine? I may be stupid sometimes, but I have my dignity.
There was a split-second to make a descision. In a split-second, I
made mine. I put the coffepot down — threw it, really, but I don’t
want to make myself sound too stupid, so we’ll go with “put” — on the
stove, which was nearby and convenient, and thrust the half-full mug
under the stream.
I KNOW, I KNOW, it was the wrong call, but I wasn’t really awake
yet, and this seemed the more direct route for the coffee to get into
my body. I was being efficient, cutting out the middleman.
Middlepot. Whatever.
So disaster was temporarily averted, or at least stalled. The mug
slowly filled with glorious coffee. And slowly filled with glorious
coffee. And it became apparent that the “filling” part was not slowing
down, but the mug’s capacity to “fill” was quickly running out. I
needed a new mug. Which I keep in a cupboard on the other side of the
kitchen, ten feet away.
The coffeepot! Except I’d left that on the stove, which was JUST out
of reach. So I had a terrifyingly full coffee mug in my left hand, and
NOTHING to replace it with, and everything I could think of was to my
left anyway; so even if I’d HAD a mug, or a jar, or a pail or vat
handy, I would have had to cross my right arm over my left and attempt
to get it without turning myself into a pretzel, or turned my back on
the whole circus, hoping to reach any vaguely container-like object
with my right hand while keeping my left absolutely immobile under the
stream. Which, in addition to being a surprisingly long sentence, is
really, really hard to do.
I tried to reach the coffeepot. I cursed that split-second decision
that had left it on the stove. I could not reach the coffeepot. I am
eternally grateful that there are no photographs of this moment in my
life.
And then the mug finished filling, and the coffee started
splattering everywhere again. And it’s all fun and games until
precious coffee begins to go to waste, you know. I yanked the mug out
from under the coffeemaker, dove for the coffeepot (during which
excruciating moment a large amount of coffee sloshed over the side of
the mug and splashed, hissing, on the warmer), swung it around and
jammed it back into its place. The coffee that was pooled on the
warmer was suddenly compressed under the glass of the coffeepot; and
crackled, sputtered, popped, and then turned into black cement, firmly
attaching the coffeepot to its maker.
As if on cue, the brewing finished and the coffee calmly stopped
pouring out. The friendly burble that announces the arrival of a new
pot of coffee went on as if nothing had happened.
So, obviously, that little stopper gadget has stopped working. I’ll have to remember not to do that again.
And I may have to go back to that Starbucks even sooner than I’d planned.
10:12:00 AM 
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