The Noble Coffee that Was

I’ve been debating whether or not to tell this story, but I’ve decided its something I must share.

After a struggle trying to decide what to have for dinner the other night, I settled on frozen steak from the kosher store on Amsterdam.  As I ate this perfect meal of beef and potatoes, I got a call from the team.  They wanted to go to the Village.

As it neared time for the shuttle, I stopped by the library for warmth.  I noticed the random café there was open, so I went to buy a coffee.  The lady told me regular coffee cost a dollar, whereas flavored cost $1.10.  From behind the cashier, she could not see the two urns, so I asked her how she knew what people were buying.  She said she only knew what they told her…

After pouring myself a regular cup and filing it with two packs of sugar and some whole milk (instead of the skim, which was also available), I moved the perilously full cup to the register.  My phone rang at the same time I reached for my wallet, so I used each hand to remove them both from my pockets.  Somehow, in the chaos, the coffee cup exploded.

  Light brown coffee spilled over the counter, into the napkin dispenser, under the register.  A small coffee lake formed at my feet.   All in a matter of seconds.

As I rushed to help the lady clean up the mess, I worried about missing the shuttle.  Subways alone are boring.  We worked together to contain the flood and I sheepishly asked her for a free refill, to which she agreed.  

My new cup in hand, I boarded the shuttle and sat down to enjoy my hard earned drink.  As I took my first sip, I smelled the milk and realized I had eaten meat not 45 minutes before.  I suddenly knew why the first cup committed suicide.  It was to save me from eating milk after meat.  

I didn’t want to sit with a full cup of coffee the whole way down to Stern, so I stood up and asked the full shuttle if anyone wanted some coffee.  A girl in the back asked if it was caffeinated, which I thought was kind of a dumb question.  “Very,” I said, and turned around to offer the drink to the driver.  He looked at me as if I was offering him a bribe or something, so I changed my offer to, “Would you at least throw it out.”

He did, and my ride down was uneventful.  The events to follow have their own tale to tell.  But when I think back on that night, I can’t help but to reflect on that poor cup that gave its life to better my own.