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Morning Ritual
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Morning Ritual The alarm is normally never needed since my body clock seems to know exactly when I could have 10 more minutes to sleep and wakes me up early. Kind of a mixed blessing of sorts. Soon after my eyes focus and the urge to scratch my balls subsides, I will head to the bathroom for the shower. Feeling refreshed I will then proceed to dress and get down to check my mail before leaving. The obligatory stop in the chat room and responses to my mail are promptly attended to. Grab my keys and go Where am I going? Good question. To get coffee. Yes I know. I can avoid the 15 minute ride into town, or the possible bad parking in town, or all the other people on the road if I would just brew the coffee in one of my many coffee makers. Why do I do it?? Ritual. I have them. You have them. We all have them. Upon arrival at my coffee place, I've already taken my $2.50 out for coffee and tip. I get into the line like the other caffeine addicted cattle. I sit and size up my wait time. It doesn't really matter because I have no place to be that early. I don't know why I'm in a rush. I just want my fuckin coffee. First in line we have the middle-aged jogging ladies. They wear designer<b> spandex </font></b>and make-up and look as if they didn't even plan on exercising. Besides when does the trainer recommend the raisin nut muffin...before or after your jog. I don't know why I hate them so but they seem to take too much time talking and preventing me from getting my fuckin coffee. After the Ralph Lauren yoga team lycras their way through and leaves, there always has to be Mr.Doofus. He could be anyone. He could be anywhere. It never fails. If you are in line somewhere, her is there. He's unkempt looking. Most likely clothed in sweatpants ( stains included)and some sort of flipflop or no sock deal. His hair looks like the mop hanging out of the bucket behind the counter. He always smiles. Always. He has the urge to engage anyone and everyone with little comments. They may be funny. They may be stupid. They might be crude. The point is they "are".They are making him spend way too much time hitting on the obviously nauseated cashier. They expend way too much time entertaining the other people in line like myself. They may be nasally as if he needs desperately to blow his nose increasing their annoyance. They keep coming from MrDoofus. The comments are followed by little giggles and snorts as if the listeners were actually listening and not contemplating whether or not they could just smash in his face and no one would say a word in absolute approval. They are simply delaying me from getting my fucking coffee. Mr.Doofus finally struggles to obtain the proper coinage for his transaction and moves on. Finally I'm next. The only people left in line are the tourist family. They are nice. They are polite. They are so "Norman Rockwell" they make the chocolate Oreo tart seem sour. The only problem I have is what the hell are you doing in my way at 7:00 in the fucking morning strolling around town site seeing. I know how selfish that sounds, but consider the fact I just need a cup of coffee and I have to sit and wait patiently behind Tiffany Von Flugensmithe discuss with her 4 yr old Epiphany Morgan, the delicate differences between the chai's, and watch as her husband pulls out his American Express card in front of the big "CASH ONLY" sign to pay the mind blowing $8.35 bill. By this time I'm so sick of the "Rockwell's" my eyes have rolled 6 miles down the road. FINALLY......."Double Joe to go please!" I request with a smile. A few seconds later my coffee is in my hand. You'd think I would be happy by now. You'd think wrong. This particular coffee shop has a self serve condiment application system. The shop keeps it up the best they can but......... at least one of the latte-lycra-ladies has spilled coffee all over and not wiped it up. Mr. Doofus has obviously grabbed the wrong lid several times and placed them back-covered in coffee mind you-in the rack in all the wrong spots. Translation...I have to play "the shell game" with the coffee lids to get the right one. I then have to pray the "raw" sugar is in a good container. This may seem trivial but you haven't sat there for 5 minutes shaking out granule by granule 3 spoonfuls of raw sugar through a pea-sized hole all caked with melted sugar. If this is the case I must spend several minutes opening the container and pouring it out and then reinstalling the screw top all caked with semi-moist sticky sugar residue. Not fun. Once the lid is installed, I'm out the door like yesterday. I bump into Mr.Doofus while trying to squeeze by the Polo Pilate's ladies making plans for tea. I rush past the Flugensmithes and hop back into my car. Howard's voice calms me as I take my first sip. I need to drink about 1 inch before I can drive without spills. I light a cigarette and laugh at the gang on the radio all while watching Mr.Doofus cram his fat sloppy ass into a Porsche 911 with MD plates. I allow myself a smile as the DKNYsport ladies almost jog in front of the garbage truck. I finally pull away from the side of the road passing Mrs.Flugensmithe as the sounds of a pornostar screaming passionately echoes from my radio. The look on her face was priceless. The ride out of town is filled with potholes and bad drivers. My balancing skills are finely honed to prevent any unwanted brown crotch stains from my coffee. Dodging the speed traps and uberluxury sedans driven by Grandpa Magoo I finally make it out of town and on my way. I do this every morning. Why? I'm annoyed most of the time. The coffee rarely makes it all the way home or to work. I rack up a shit load of aggravating miles and waste gas. I begin to recognize and hate the people I see everyday. Why? Ritual. It must be ritual. I feel incomplete without making my morning journey. Coffee doesn't taste good unless it's picked up in a snobby college town filled with the grossly privileged all there for my amusement and ridicule. As much as I hate it, I love this place and the ritual involved. We all have stupid things we do to feel ourselves. Without them we simply float without concern or passion for anything no matter how trivial it may seem. The coffee by the way is great. Strong flavor.Not bitter. Good condiment selection. And they don't use the new measurement system that includes the liquid volume term "Verdi". Well maybe I need a nice cup of STFU now after that rant  |
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8/31/2005 2:20 am |
Wow. I had no idea this was how I get my coffee in the morning when I'm in Trenton. I'm asleep during all of this, usually. Sometimes, I'm in the chat room. Sometimes I'm getting ready to do something, sometimes I'm just stumbling around until you get back with my damn coffee. Anyway...it's still amusing that you have TWO coffee makers and drive all the way to Princeton to get a fix. It took me weeks to get up the nerve to bring coffee to your house so I could have more than one cup. Guess that's my ritual...I drink one, then I drink another. The anticipation brought by the smell of the coffee brewing enriches my morning and makes me feel cozy. I also love the fact that I can actually MAKE the coffee...grinding the beans and tweak my $12/lb. treat with my own special ingredients to make the smoothest cup o' joe in the world (served in your very own STFU mug, as shown above, should you choose). But my ritual requires coffee in a glass mug, so I never choose the STFU mug for myself. Don't know why, but to me, coffee and tea taste totally differently in glass. I think there is even evidence to support this. (And GLASS ROCKS! as you know) Thing is, I can think of a dozen reasons why you should conform to my ritual of actually making strong, smooth coffee (the secret is cinnamon in the grounds). When we're in Philly, I even throw in some chocolate powder cause you like it. It doesn't matter that I know you'll be in Princeton in about an hour and a half getting your ritual fix. Cause I believe in ritual, and I wish I had more of them, myself. Rituals keep us sane. They help us bolster ourselves so we can trudge though schedule and routine, made more comfortable, of course, by providing us with familiarity that teaches our bodies to stay on track. Rituals provide continuity, they become traditions, and even for the biggest iconoclast, those familiar behaviors provide a great deal to us, emotionally, physically, spiritually, whatever. Plus, quirks are sexy, so even if a ritual is a little kooky, it has it's charms. So it's a damn good thing we can get both of our coffee rituals met. Cause I feel the same damn way about it...I MUST HAVE MY COFFEE, DON'T GET IN MY WAY! (so continue to do whatever you want to get your needs met, my sweetiepie)
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9/5/2005 12:01 pm |
I have this ritual that involoves me paying 6 bucks to get inot the fair when it rolls through, just for the priviliedge of going in and paying 5 more bucks for a cheesesteak. Only because I can't get a decent cheesesteak otherwise unless i wan to drive 8 hours to philly. And if you think the Fluhgensmiths are bad, try wading through carnies, screaming children and rednecks soaked in the smell of livestock.
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