Bikes and Coffee

Today, I worked with the windows open, finally recording final grades on three of four classes of blue books. At 4PM, I realized that I'd been inside all day - inside on a beautiful spring-like day. I stood up, stretched, and put on my shoes. I did not grab my coat or even a jacket. No need. It's early spring - just like General Lee prognosticated. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I was going out.

I decided to drive and see where I ended up. I took my camera along, in case I saw anything worthy of my picture-a-day blog. After a weekend of seemingly endless grading, it felt great to have the sunroof open, music blaring, and no particular destination in mind. (My apologies to readers who are still experiencing winter - which is any temperature below 55 degrees.)

I ended up in Five Points and decided to stop the car to photograph all the Dawgs. I counted 5 in a 3-block area. A veritable Dawg bonanza! As I made my way from the first to the second, I noticed a father and son on bikes approaching me from behind. I didn't pay much attention, and I think I was walking in a straight line. I say this because as I passed a parked Toyota, I heard a crash and felt something hit the back of my leg. I did what anyone would do - I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, ducked my head and raised my arms to cover my head. Yes, I'm sure I looked really foolish, but not more foolish than the kid on his bike.

I looked to my left there he was - kid and his bike on the front of the Toyota. Interestingly, he was still sitting on the bike. He simply steered into the car and came to a stop leaning against the front end of the car. To my credit, I didn't laugh or ask if I could take his picture because he seemed a bit shaken up. His father came right over and apologized to me. "No, no, I think it was my fault," I said, "I think I moved into his path." "No," he assured me, "he's just learning. He wasn't watching where he was going." At this point, the kid, who had peeled himself off the car by now, interjected, "Yes, I was watching where I was going." The embarassment, coupled with his father's betrayal, proved to be too much and he started to cry.

Once again, I tried to take the blame, but the father insisted that his kid - his crying kid - was to blame. I decided to move away and started to walk down the sidewalk, then realized that I was setting the kid up for another round of failure. "You all go ahead," I said. The kid, now snotty from the crying, looked at his dad and sniffled. The dad helped him back on the bike and off they went, kid wobbling and weaving down the sidewalk. I continued to photograph Dawgs.

Then, I headed to Starbucks. I needed coffee for me and coffee for Big City friends. I chose my 2 pounds of coffee and approached the counter. "Get a free tall drink when you buy 2 pounds of coffee" the sign announced. "I get a free tall drink?" I asked, just to make sure that I wasn't hallucinating. "Yes, any tall drink," said the happy barista. "Tall hazelnut latte," I said, still not believing my good fortune. Surely, someone who knocks small children and their bikes into parked cars doesn't deserve a free tall hazelnut latte. But, within minutes, I had my drink and my 2 pounds of coffee - and renewed faith that our God is a forgiving God.

Hotel Coffee

I'm back in Charm City for work. I've been here for three days and will head home tomorrow. Three days means three mornings of hotel coffee. Here's what I've decided - there's really good coffee, the kind of coffee that makes you happy to be alive and addicted to caffiene. Then there's OK coffee. The kind of coffee that responds well to help in the form of sugar and cream. Then there's bad coffee. This includes weak coffee and coffee that only dreams of a rich taste. It's coffee that has good intentions but just went awry.

Finally, there's hotel coffee. Hotel coffee is the coffee that they leave in your room. The coffee that only the serious addicts will drink. The coffee made from the beans that Juan Valdez and his mule stepped on as they made their way to the good beans. The coffee that tastes like liquified cardboard. The coffee that makes you think that your last caffiene-deprivation headache wasn't so bad. You can stand another day of misery.

But instead, you make the coffee. You try not to think about everyone else who has used this coffee pot as you pour the water into the machine. You tear open the coffee package, careful not to tear the pre-packaged coffee filter because you've done this before and there's just no salvaging the torn package. You also make sure that you have the regular coffee, because if you're going to suffer, you're damn sure going to get a fix. No decaf for you. You put the package in the basket, seam-side down. You're not sure why the seam needs to face down, but that's what the directions say, so that's what you do.

You hit the button and wait. When it's done brewing, you ignore the slightly rancid smell and pour yourself a cup. You know you're in a fancy hotel when there are actual coffee mugs, not styrofoam cups wrapped in plastic. Before you pour, you check to make sure that the black mug is right-side up, because you remember when your half-asleep friend didn't and tried to pour coffee into the bottom of the mug. You remember how you laughed as she exclaimed and jumped, but you know it won't be funny if it happens to you. You thank your friend for her cautionary tale.

Now, the good part. You open the condiments package and remove the envelopes containing the creamer and sugar - both powder. No matter the hotel, the condiments are all the same, two packets joined together for all eternity. No liquid in hotels. You tap the creamer, hoping against hope that the powder will slide to one side of the envelope and you can tear it open without spilling the precious powder on the counter. The creamer doesn't shift. It never does. You spill some, as you always do. As you dump the remaining powder into the cup, you pray that it dissolves because sometimes, the creamer is a brick that floats around in the coffee, daring the hot liquid to dissolve it. This is a bad omen. After the creamer, you repeat the process with the sugar. Then, using the elegant and graceful plastic stirs, you mix your concoction. It turns a slighltly lighter shade of brown. You turn a slightly lighter shade of green.

Finally, you drink. You drink quickly because you know that hotel coffee can only get worse as it cools. You're certain that the coffee is eating away at your insides, but you drink anyway as you count the minutes until you're back at home with your coffee and real cream.