Turmoil and instability have been the hallmarks of my life, but one thing has remained constant: Bad Coffee.
I've been imbibing oceans of bitter bean squeezings since I was in high school, and mostly it tastes awful. I don't care. I'm addicted. I'd drink battery acid if it had caffeine in it.
At home , the coffee is always freshly ground and deliciously potent. It's when I leave my domicile that my troubles begin. I just cannot bring myself to pay $2.75 for some designer dreck, so I often wind up stopping for a cup at gas stations or 7-11's on the way to whatever unfulfilling dead-end job I'm currently working. If I'm headed to the unemployment office I get two cups.
Most gas stations dispense coffee out of converted kerosene pumps. It's a good thing I don't smoke, because the oil-slick floating on top of gas-station coffee is a major fire hazard. 7-11 is a little better, but the one near my house started offering all these goddamned flavored coffees, cutting back on the chances of me being able fill my 48 ounce cup with 100% good ole' joe. If I wanted a raspberry/amaretto/hazelnut monstrosity, I'd go to Art school and flaunt my poser affectations at the hipster coffee house behind my building. I can tell no real artists go there. Real artists can't afford $3.00 shots of espresso.
The work-place offers unlimited free coffee. The brewing is approached the same way monks make fine brandy-always leave a bit of the old batch in to mingle with the new. Whatever you do , don't clean the pot. Ever. Go out to your car, grab the rag you use to wipe oil off the dipstick. Run it around the inside of the pot until the pot, the rag ,or both, change color. Ignore the dish soap next to the sink. That's for the tea-drinkers.
Never get coffee from a vending machine at a rest area. Those things are really teleportation devices that transport boiling toxic lava from Mercury's surface into a tiny cardboard cup. A cup with no lid. Try driving on I-95 with a cup of napalm in your lap.
But the all-time worst coffee I've ever had was at AA meetings. It's always in a rusty metal urn and it tastes like cigarettes and desperation. I had to drink a six-pack of Bud just to get the taste out of my mouth after a meeting. Then I'd have another six-pack to help ease the caffeine jitters. I'm very glad the D of C doesn't make me go to AA anymore.
I just found a Barsuck's gift card! I wonder if there's enough on it to get a triple-mocha-frappe-cinnamon- boysenberry-latte -puree?
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