Friday, February 19, 2010

Coffee Politics

Most of the folks I know are at work all day -- and I'm not. Which is why I ask them to keep me in the loop on their office politics, water cooler chitchat, and corporate scandals involving coffee pot mishaps and spattered, uncleaned microwaves. I want the drama.

Here's today's update:

From: Friend_at_work
Subject: If you kill the joe, you gotta make some mo'!

Each and every day, as the clock takes it's morning stroll past 8am, a group of young men sputter down the hallway, still only half awake from their much needed slumber. They envy babies, retirees, college students, even those of the nation w/o jobs because they can sleep when they want. Still in a hypnagogic state, the men enter the cafeteria, searching for a tasty and effective caffeinated beverage. For a few dollars they can get both. The unlucky ones like me settle with the foul freeworkcoffee that is Roast to Coast.

Sometimes both pots are loaded with enough coffee to give us heart attacks. Most days, however, we find that one or both are empty -- somebody in the office is just too busy at 7:45am to make a new pot when he or she finishes it. After weeks of turning my shoulder while watching others' courtesy and politeness levels dip into the red, I decide to make a sign: "If you kill the joe, you gotta make some mo'! You know this baby!"

I figure this will at least stem the bleeding of my good friend Mike's heart, as he brews pot after pot each morning. But as I go to fill my cup today, I notice the taped sign is gone after only one afternoon in action. On top of this, I watch a frizzy-haired, wide-hipped, glasses-toting lady fill her cup (emptying the pot in the process), and walk away.

So I'm going to make a new sign and put it on her desk. Then I'm going to hire one of these (watch the "My Debut" video):

Until tomorrow,

To: Friend_at_work
Subject: You're at work. And I'm in paradise. (Sucks to be you.)

Paradise Cafe & Bakery in Bridgeport, that is. I'm nibbling on a tasty breakfast croissant sandwich, sipping a latte, listening to the soft yet horribly outdated sounds of Areosmith overhead, and spewing off emails like it's my job. Speaking of jobs, if I didn't have one lined up, I'd totally come to this place on the reg. The sandwiches are huge and delicious, plenty of available outlets line the walls so my dying computer can juice itself, and the coffee is bangin'.

And, now, speaking of coffee, your email is responsible for almost causing a horrendous car accident. I was reading it while zipping down Murray, as I was on my way to the employment office to complete yet another mound of paperwork. (Okay, I guess I'm willing to take some of the blame.) I found myself chuckling -- eyes closed! -- while running yellow lights and swerving in and out of traffic. (Oh, coffee politics!) This didn't scare me, though, because I'm used to this sort of behind-the-wheel excitement.

I really, really hope you have the authority to hire an office linebacker. Let me know how that works out.


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