Coffee!

Yesterday, to my utmost woe and hurtful surprise, a most scandalous occurrence befell the coffee maker: That is, it wasn't working.

So I made an adventure to the top floor, the seventh, wherein the illustrious Dan Yergin plies his trade. (It should be known that Dan Yergin is the CEO of CERA, and recently was published in the Wall Street Journal. Not only have we put it into CERA style and made it our own on our Web site, but he was compelled to e-mail a pdf of it to everyone in the company yesterday. And I was snubbed by the newspaper in Lexington!) On the top floor the wheels of industry make their monolithic sweeps across the chasm of business and academia. The footprint mimics that of the lower floor, the sixth, where the grunts live, and having become acclimated to the environs I was well-equppied for the foray. Sho nuff, there before my wandering eyes stood The Maker, gleaming in its stainless-steel glory. I made the usual, a Sumatran blend from a golden packet. The Maker has three settings: Weak, Hella-weak, and Peel the Paint from the Walls Cuz Bubba's Goin' Bonkers.

I of course chose Bonkers.

The process is quick, smoothly bubbly and hot. The usual assortment of milks and creamers (14 bottles of milk to every carton of real creamer, and this is not a figure I am making up) line like the Gestapo in a prison-camp fridge. I did the dance without the required red straw; there were none at hand so I chose a spoon against the wishes of the Soup Eaters. I imagine they'll find their tools elsewhere, or switch to chunky.

I later remarked to Gig, who set me on my path in the first place ("Bryan, there's a coffee maker upstairs, you know." "Aoouuuu?") the coffee tasted better from upstairs, and I wasn't lying. A creaminess encapsulated the dense Sumat, unlike that of which I'd tasted from the grunts' device. I thought perhaps altitude, or attitude, had something to do with it. That was until this morning, nigh on an hour ago, when I rejoiced at the Maker sans "out of order" sign. Sometimes if it's cold out and my legs carry me on their own volition with blatant disregard for my heart or shinsplints, I make it here with coffee to spare. Oh, the joyous mix, oh, the rapturous swirl, the blending of worlds as Sumat and Pepperminty grocery-store goodness cohabitate my silver cup. Such was this day, and all sang praise to the Maker, for it was not only in service but working much like its upstairs twin.

But alas I am now without, and before my eyes are vetted with explanatory participles without ending or context, I shall meet my Maker for another.