Every morning I stop at 711 to get a cup of coffee. But Jenna, how come you don’t drink the coffee that is made in the office? Because it tastes like feces and chemically contaminated water. Why? I’m not really sure. I guess it’s the kind of coffee, maybe it’s the water, MAYBE it’s the person who makes it. We’ll never know.
f I get to the coffee counter in 711 and there isn’t another patron in sight, I’m relieved. I can make my coffee the way I want it and at the pace I want to do so. But sometimes I rush. In my head I’ve made it a daily competition; I must finish making my coffee and make sure I beat everyone else in the store to the check-out line. Creating this competition was not a conscious decision, It just happened. If I lose? I’m pissed until I get into my car. It’s irrational and ridiculous but alas, it’s true.
If I walk in and there are already people making coffee…I panic. All of a sudden I turn into a robot – I don’t know what to do with my appendages and my mind starts to race; do I say excuse me? do I reach over? do I wander around 711 until a space at the counter opens? What I choose changes everyday. Though I will not hover, I refuse.
Coffee Counter Hoverers make me panic more than stumbling upon a crowded pour-your-own-coffee-island. They’re always so sneaky too. I walk in, score, the counter is clear. LALALA making my coffee – a little sugar – a little creamer [I like my coffee black 😦 ] (because, Hello, my name is Jenna and I’m a coffee snob, [for the record I’m OK with this and let’s face it 711 coffee would not win in a knife fight against Starbucks) and then BAM….hoverer.
Before you can glance over your shoulder to see if someones actually there, you already know they are, turning around is unnecessary, you can feel them. They’re so close; you can hear them shifting in their puffy jackets, smacking their parched lips. They’ll do a little two-step dance behind you; right foot, left foot, spin? Maybe they grunt and mutter – whatever they do, my hands start to shake, my heart start beating fast and I start to sweat. I’m thinking, at least not in words, when I panic my thoughts are run-on sentences and untranslatable noises. The result? I get coffee everywhere, I probably knock into the person next to me and spill their freshly poured cup and I fumble with my lid, “Why is this lid not clicking on right? It’s made for this cup, isn’t it!?!? IT FIT YESTERDAY”.
I should start bringing my coffee from home but I always lose the travel mug.