The Coffee Cockroach

Hello blogosphere… readers… text-addicts.

I know it’s been a while. I’ve been using that damn Twitter to placate my addiction to blogging and ranting just long enough.

Consider Twitter and the Twitterati, “Methadone for Bloggers.” 140 character shots into the veiny elbow pit we call the “internet.” But nothing’s like the practicing unsafe text with everyone looking… (Hello “potential employers,” “Mom,” and pundits galore… You are all invited.)

(Even you, Miley Cyrus… Lord knows you and your people are scouring the internet these days… but I digress.)

Today’s entry:

How to not be a Douchebag in the Office: Part One

(Yes, I’m starting another series. I do this because I’m addicted to the rise and fall of anticipation, quickly followed by disappointment. I like my Text Life to reflect my sss… nevermind.)

There it is… the coffee pot. Manna. It’s the fountain of fecal-colored formula for fertilization of the financial farm. A sole source of sustenance in shallow sips, slowly stimulating sore stems from slumber.

We need it. That jumpin’ jolt, to get the mundane juices flowing.

And who, pray tell, is the criminal, dare I say “Terrorist,” to such a divine drip?

None other than a person I’m calling The Coffee Cockroach. (Ew.)

This slimy individual manages to swoop in on the last cup of coffee… and leave just “enough” in the pot, to not have to make any more, or has the audacity to leave NONE AT ALL (also known as a “hit and run.”) Leaving the next person to swallow the “remains” and/or make another pot.

This makes me LIVID.

This pisses me off more than…

List of things that are pissing me off less, right now:

1. Slow drivers in the fast lane rubbernecking past a car that is pulled over. (Without fatalities, of course. No CARnage, no stoppage. That’s my rule.)

2. “Tourerists” on the Embarcadero… especially riding rented bikes. Look, Bob from North Dakota, if your wife can’t ride her damn Tony Little Gazelle… she shouldn’t be pedaling to Hooters or Joe’s Crap Shack on the thoroughfare, you idiot. Get back in your mobile home and carve a carbon wake the size of your wife’s gel seat back to the Midwest.

3. Losing data coverage for my ridiculously expensive mobile internet plan. How about a discount for days lost, Verizon?!! If I have to go one more minute without using Google maps, stuck in BFE, while the transients on this block do vulture circles around the 3 dimes and 2 nickels I have in my pocket, all the while my Mac Pro sits nervously across my shoulder blades, pixelling it’s pants… (The level I’m prepared to sink in these moments to not get robbed is pretty low. Either I’m going to have to do my “gotta get my fix, scratch myself-jump around, I’m a crazy white guy” act, or urinate on the street. Or both. It shows them I have nothing to lose.)

So you see… I get pretty mad. Especially because A) I sit right next to the coffee pot (hence, getting blamed) and B) It’s effing rude/inconsiderate/selfish/retarded.

My observations are as follows:

Ever notice how when a pot of coffee gets ¾ empty and everyone in the office starts taking half cups? It’s a physiological anomaly. Everyone either decides, “Hey, I don’t really need to be cracked out to finish those TPS Reports,” or “I want to make sure everyone gets a sip of this luscious juice.”

Maybe they look at the Coffee Pot as a “gateway drug” to other office addictions like say…

- those Studded Finger Condoms used to flip through unsafe amounts of paper…

- or maybe they feel like by finishing the coffee, they drank the whole pot, making them some sort of Caffeine-Sucking Coffee Chupacabra…

OR… (dun, dun, DUN!)

A far more likely scenario… [cue: clicking of keys, mice, and shuffling of paper, under the quiet cancerous hum of fluorescent ceiling tiles]

CC: [approaching the coffee maker, under his breath] “Sh*t, only 2 cups left… I’m going to really have to time this… [startled by approaching employee] Oh, Andrew! Would you like some coffee?”

Andrew: “Um… sure.”

CC: [pouring Andrew’s cup] “How is your day going? Don’t you love this weather?”

Andrew: “It’s raining? Good… good… whoa… that’s enough.”

CC: [still pouring] “Oh, yeah? And your music?”

Andrew: “It’s fine. I’m good. Stop, stop with the coff…!!”

CC: [filling to the brim, leaving it impossible to not spill] “Good to hear! Careful with that cup, Andy, I’m always cleaning up the ‘coffee area,’ from ‘sloppy people,’ you know what I mean? Ha ha. [throws a “friendly team elbow”]

Andrew: [spilling a little, burning mouth, trying to get to the rim of the cup] “Ow. Hot… Yeah, thanks…” [hatred boiling]

CC: “Well, keep up the good work, Tiger. Hey, let’s not be selfish and leave a little for someone else… shall we?” [CC pours a little into his cup, in clear view, skillfully leaving less than a quarter cup in the pot, at best] “Well, you have a great day now, boss.”

==== Sound familiar to anyone? ====

Well today I caught the Cockroach.

[Cue: Same sounds as before, but with a foreshadowed undertone of the end of a superhero movie… like a John Williams score.]

Me: [Hearing the CC at the coffee pot, catching him mid-pour] “Hey buddy! How’s it going?”

CC: [Startled, and for good reason. He was planning a hit and run] “Oh! Whoa! You! Man, you startled me. [stops pouring, leaving a dire spittle left]

Me: [Looking at the pitiful remains in the pot. Meeting eyes. Back to the pot.] Hey, I was just about to make another pot… you want to finish this?

At this moment the pain in CC’s eyes was so intense, realizing his defeat, and so satisfying to me, as he stared at his half cup, the little bit in the in the coffee pot, the back and forth, then back to my eyes… I inched closer to his cup… he pulled away, slightly.

CC: Naw, man. This is enough… really…

Me: [Trying to mask the “got you sucka” in my voice] It’s ok, man. I’m going to make another pot. A fresh one. For everyone else.

CC: [Is that remorse in his voice?] Oh… you are? Well… no, I can’t…

Me: Sure you can. [Pouring the rest in his cup]

CC: Ok… [Dumbfounded] I… didn’t… know.

Me: Sure, man. Don’t worry about it, Tiger. Have a great day.

As the Cockroach walked away, tail between his legs; I just stood there… then the gentle chorus, the clicking keys, mice, and shuffling papers grew to a loud roar, and there I was… Carnegie Hall, taking the first of many bows… I exited stage left, walked to the water cooler, poured 12 cups worth of water, and back to the stage… and they were still there, standing now, in rapturous ovation… I gently bowed and slipped in the filter, eyeballed just enough grains, and pushed the red launch button… swelling in pride.

You’re welcome, Office.

Yeah, it’s me. Protector of Coffee. Defender against the tyranny of Office Douchebags.

Punvert, OUT!