I drank too much coffee this morning. I really do feel like I am high and every attempt to remotely sit still is a struggle. Thanks Dunkin Donuts. Your hazelnut indulgence has turned me into an aholic.
I didn't drink coffee until I got to college (something about sleeping four hours a night that makes you want to unnaturally stimulate your energy level). Before college, I enjoyed it, but only if it was in some 300 calorie concoction involving chocolate and whipped cream.
But now, after simply two years of my taking part in this American daily ritual, I have become a coffee snob. I drink it straight up: hot and black, brewed to perfection, preferably fair-trade (gotta protect da workers).
[Sidenote: when I was little my mom got me into unsweetened hot/iced teas so that I didn't have to be the a-hole always need sweet'n'low or honey or lemon or milk or laxatives or whatever said a-hole requires for the enjoyment of their beverage. I guess my cut-out-the-middleman drink philosophy I've inherited from my mother carried over to my coffee principles as well That being said, my mom puts milk in her coffee. Ha, what a peasant. End sidenote. ]
I like to think that I have a little bit more of a liking from the baristas who I order coffee from. (I mean, they're not just college journalism majors with nothing to do with their degrees so they got a job at Starbucks right? I mean, they're baristas for god's sake!) They ask "room for cream?" and I say "puhhhllleeeeeez, and waste an extra six ounces of that Columbian goodness?"
[Sidenote: If you read that quote out of context you'd probably assume I was referring to another main Columbian export. Please don't think that. Sidenotewithinasidenote: I've never actually said that to a barista.]
I like to think we black drinkers have a greater respect in the coffee community. Something that the lesser people I am going to call creamies aspire to be like. As if they stare with twinkling eyes saying to each other, "wow, I want to be like her one day," while I intentionally walk by the cream and sugar table with my nose in the air. "I am just a lowly creamie," they exclaim, disappointment blanketing their faces. Soon enough creamie, soon enough.
But the truth is, not everyone cares for their coffee to be black. What I feel to be insipid, the creamie might find to be rainbows in his mouth. And what I find to be a radical reflection of my savvy time-management skills, the creamie might find to be a reflection of the never-stop attitude I call my life.
I drank my coffee this morning with a little bit of cream. It was pretty good.