Just Give Me My Damn Coffee Already

So at the end of January I gave up drinking coffee.  Mostly because I realized that somewhere along the way, I had become so dependent on it, I had upped my usual quantity from two morning cups to about five. And since I drink my coffee with a generous splash of half and half, a sprinkle of cinnamon, and Splenda (2.5 packets, give or take some counter spillage) that translated to my favorite Calvin Klein jeans feeling uncomfortably tighter (thus crushing my long held philosophy that nothing gets between me and my Calvins, except for maybe a daily pint of fattening dairy products).

For a good four weeks, I went without coffee.  The first week off coffee was really hard, and I admit, I was beastly to live with.  There were a couple of days I thought I would have to fasten safety pins on my eyelids to keep them open, but I powered through and felt so much better. Then last weekend my husband, who still insisted I make coffee every morning even though I was no longer drinking it (wait, I take that back. It wasn’t an insistence really, it was more of an annoying whiny noise he made every time he realized there was no coffee for him to drink, thus inspiring me to continue to make the stupid coffee, just to shut him the hell up) made a pot of coffee which filled our kitchen with a smell so delicious, I wondered aloud if I should have a cup.  Twenty seconds later, my hubs handed me my Disney World Goofy mug (Goofy’s the bomb yo), filled to the brim with a hot cup of java, fixed just the way I like it (which I am sure you all think was really sweet of him, but just know what I know, and that is the fact that secretly he was dying for me to relapse and drink coffee again, because that man is always trying to corrupt me by tempting me to drink something I don’t really need).  I won’t lie, that cup coffee tasted like freaking liquid velvet, which is my way of saying it was yum.  It was then that I decided it would be okay for me to have the occasional cup of coffee (and to be perfectly honest, it wasn’t like I had completely eliminated caffeine, I just replaced my coffee fueled buzz with stuff like Anacin and tea. And while tea is not all that bad tasting, I don’t understand why the Brits practically orgasm over it, because it has been my experience that one needs to drink a whole shitload of Earl, in order to get the same high as one gets with a bit of Joe).

With my new compromise in place, the other day after my yogalites class (it’s yoga! It’s pilates! It’s yogalites!) I decided I would get a cup of coffee, as I was feeling a bit sluggish (which I blame on my asshole cat, who woke me up at 5 a.m. that very morning when she decided to bathe herself on my bed). Conveniently located in my gym is a little café, and thus I decided that would be the easiest place for me to purchase a cup of coffee.

It should have been a simple transaction really, but Hanz, who happened to be working the counter, elevated my second coffee experience in six weeks, to a much more complicated level.

Me: Hi. I’d like to get a cup of coffee please.

Hanz (Actually, this may or may not be his real name; I’m only calling him this because he had an accent that sounded German to me and I refer to all German-accented guys as Hanz): Do you want the 12 ounce or 16 ounce size? (Which besides his accent, I took as additional proof that Hanz wasn’t originally from Northern Illinois, because what person behind a coffee counter would ask such a question?  No one, that’s who. Because the normal way to ask the beverage question is as follows: Would you like that in a small, medium, or large size? Well, I guess that would be normal, unless of course you went to a Starbucks, where they have their own damn coffee language, which I refuse to learn, because I just don’t have that kind of time).

Me: Uh, I want a medium.

Hanz: Do you want it Dunkin’ Donuts style?

Me: You have Dunkin’ Donuts coffee? I love Dunkin Donuts coffee, it’s my favorite. Yes, I’ll have that.

Hanz: We only have Starbucks coffee. But I will make it like they do at Dunkin’ Donuts. How do you want it?

Me: Aaah, I think I am a little confused. (Please tell me you would be confused too. Right? Plus I forgot to mention that Hanz was wearing those glasses with the really thick lenses and I kept trying to move to his left because that’s where he was staring; so while I was trying to align myself to what I though was his line of vision, I was also moving myself slowly towards the opposite end of the counter, while simultaneously desperately trying to understand what kind of Starbucks/Dunkin’ Donuts concoction Hanz was attempting to give me).

Hanz: I will make it like they do at Dunkin’ Donuts (then he pulls out a huge stainless steel container, which I guess is somehow related to Dunkin’ Donuts). See? I pour coffee in here and fix how you like.

Me: Or, you can just pour it in a to-go cup, that’s fine.

Hanz: Well you wanted Dunkin’ Donuts style, so I will do it for you.

Me: Uh, I didn’t really understand what you meant, but that’s okay, you can make it like that. I'll take two Splendas and just a little cream though, because I’m trying to cut down on fat.

Hanz: You want some skim milk then? I can get you some skim milk (and I swear, just like a magician, he produces a gallon of skim milk from behind his ear and holds it up).

Me: Well, uh, alright.  Just a tiny bit, I guess. And a little cream, here use these (then I leaned over to the other side of the counter, probably completely displacing his vision axis, and grabbed two individual servings of cream that come in those little containers you get at Denny’s, and handed them to him).

Hanz: You don’t want the real cream?

Me: I thought that was real cream.

Hanz: Well it is real cream, but it is not as real as the cream in my refrigerator, which is more real. (And not to pick on Hanz, but in case you hadn’t noticed, his communication wasn’t exactly the best, which probably contributed to our mutual lack of understanding. Plus the thought did occur to me that maybe his 'cream' reply was some sort of deviant German sexual double entendre, but let's not go there).

Me (by the way, you should note that at this point, I am totally regretting this stupid coffee idea because either this guy is an over-server or one of us is mildly retarded): No, the cream I gave you is fine. 

Hanz (who has now mixed my coffee order in a giant stainless steel container that I hope was clean, then tilts it in my direction for me to inspect): You look, it is light enough for you? You want to taste?

Me (now wanting to scream, “NO! No Taste! Just give me a f*cking black cup of coffee already and let me fix it,” but instead I completely wuss out and say): It looks perfect. That’s fine. Really. It looks so good. I can’t wait to drink it. Yum (and then I rubbed my belly clockwise, as gastric proof of my approval). Please, don’t go out of your way anymore. You can just put a lid on it.

Hanz (ringing it up): Alright. That’s $1.79.

Me (I hand him $2): Keep the change, thank you.

Hanz: You sure? It is no problem for me to give you back change.

I just waved as I walked away. Then I lifted the DunkinBucks cup to my lips and took a sip of the most shiteous coffee I may have ever had the experience of drinking. Dunkin’ Donuts style my ass, this lukewarm cup of water tasted like it had had a piece of old shoe leather soaking in it overnight. No amount of cream, Splenda, cinnamon, or even Irish whiskey, could improve its ancient cowhide flavor.

So I guess it’s a damn good thing I bought the 500 count bottle of Anacin, because I’ve since decided I really don’t need to be drinking coffee anytime soon.