A Bad Choice

Yesterday, I made another bad choice in a series of bad choices.

Because I have been so busy for the past...oh three years, I have seldom made it to the grocery store. So, in my typical muzzy morning state, I searched through the cupboards for some breakfast. But, they were empty with the exception of some uncooked pasta, brown rice and quinoa.

'Alright, option two,' I thought to myself. I opened to the refrigerator to scrounge up something edible. Hmm, some maple syrup, super salty green olives, raw onions, and an array of salad dressings. Well, no luck there either. Oooh, wait, what was that. Ah ha! I spied some coffee creamer which was set to expire tomorrow. "I know what I'll do," I excitedly thought to myself, "I'll have coffee for breakfast on an empty stomach. What a brilliant idea; yeah!"

And so, I proceeded to make myself a giant pot of coffee. I poured it into a cup and away I went.

After having gotten about four hours of sleep the night before (due to too much excitement or just perhaps general restlessness) I was already in a funk. So, all day, I felt horrible. It felt like there was some sort of black hole in my stomach. My eyes did not want to stay open and my mind was foggy. Luckily, I managed to escape from one of my classes an hour early because I felt funky.

What's the point of this exposition? I just want to teach you something so that you don't make the same mistake/bad choice that I did. Please, don't drink coffee on an empty stomach after having gotten very little sleep. Just don't do it.

Ooh but on a positive note, I was inspired to go grocery food shopping—a habit I highly recommend one starts.

Snug as a Bug in a Coffee Mug

I like, I mean, love coffee. So, several years ago (five to be exact), I bought this totally awesome coffee mug.

It had a map of the world and on each continent it said the word “coffee” in the local language. Now, this was my favorite mug. I could muse at how people in Indonesia, or Latvia might pronounce coffee. “Kopi,” or “kafija” I would say to myself on any quiet morning. This mug made me feel smug and snug.

When I wanted some coffee (or tea) I would reach for this particular mug in the cupboard. I liked the smooth sandy feel of the ceramic as my lips touched the rim to partake of that sweet nectar. It was an ideal size and it fit in my hand so nicely. This mug and I were great friends. I must have employed this mug nearly every day for the task of being my portal in which I would enjoy coffee from.

The other day, in my usual groggy-morning-mood, I opened the cupboard, yawned and reached for my favorite mug. There it was on the top shelf. I took it down and as I was putting the kettle on, somehow it escaped my grip. Gravity pulled it down to the floor and it exploded in a crash. All that remained were the bits and pieces of a once loved mug. And ya know what? I don’t even care. It’s just a stupid mug. That’s why.

It kind of made me realize the silly value we put on our material goods. Sure, they’re cool and we like them, but they’re nugatory. (Aha! An opportunity to use the word “nugatory”).

To Validate Hipness with Caffeine

Coffee in Portland is central to the town’s hipness. Without coffee, Portland would be nothing but a wannabe trendsetting port town. This town thrives on coffee. And, not just any coffee.

We have become accustomed to a certain standard. Out lattes are always complete with a design, usually a leave or heart. Sometimes if the barista is really good, they even ask you out in the foam of the latte. (Okay, I’ve never heard of that in real life, but wouldn’t that be cool? Imagine: “…Oh, well, we met when I looked down at my latte and I tell ya, I could have sworn it said ‘let me buy you dinner’ and then it turns out it really did *laughs nervously*…and well, the rest is history…sigh…”)

Yes, we have world-class coffee. But along with that we have a fair share of very spoiled coffee snobs. They get to pick from an array of sweeteners to sweeten their brew: raw sugar, brown sugar, splenda, agave, honey, stevia, sweet’n’low and equal. That’s just the sugar.

Let us now turn out attention to milk. We have a buffet to choose from: whole milk, soy milk, rice milk, almond milk, fat free and now…hemp milk! (Vanilla or plain hemp milk?)

Even “regular” coffee isn’t just “regular” coffee anymore. When you order “coffee,” you’re likely to get a blank look from the barista and then a look of “aha,” and she will say, “OooOooh, you mean, like, “drip” coffee.” And, after that has been established, there’s more. What size? Room for cream? “Would you like a medium organic roast with a cinnamony aftertaste, French roast with a hint of chocolate from the Ivory Coast or a light Kenyan blend with earthy undertones?”

No wonder we’ve turned into a buncha spoiled coffee snobs. It has become totally acceptable and normal. Go into any coffee shop and say “a double, tall, soy, split-shot extra dry cappuccino with one pump of vanilla” and you’re likely to get just that.

But, in a minute way, our coffee preference is a way of claiming our own individuality. I’m not just that one girl in the green coat—I’m that one girl, in the green coat that orders a small soy latte. Please.

A Noble Purpose and Ignoble Results

Yesterday, I did something that I have never done in my entire life: I bought coffee from a vending machine. It was a moment of utter desperation; I was on a studying plateau and was in hopeless need of progression. To ensure future studious development, I decided it would be prudent to engage in caffeine consumption. The only available outlet for caffeine was the vending machine. So, I sashayed over to the machine armed with sheer determination and 70 cents.

I didn’t really know how the coffee vending machine worked. So, I had to take two whacks at it, instead of just one. But the second try, I got it right. The machine dispensed a styrofoam (appalling!) cup. I picked up the cup, but it was empty; I was a bit confused. I put the cup back, hoping for something to happen. The vending machine quietly burst into motion and filled my cup up with coffee. Before tasting this murky liquid, I smelled it: it smelled like muddy water. I didn’t have a good feeling about this and it being in a stryafoam cup had me feeling suspicious. But, I mustered up the courage to take a sip. It was absolutely the foulest, vilest, and most-sordid thing I have ever put in my mouth (and I once sampled paper as a child). It was even worse than instant coffee crystals. I didn’t know coffee could get worse than coffee crystals. But let me tell you, it does.

However, I can now boast and say “Hey guess what?” what? “I got a crappy cup of coffee for 70 cents.” I guess you get what you pay for. But next time, I think I shall fork out he extra buck for an enjoyable cup o’ steamin joe.