One of the things I picked up from my Pappap was a love for coffee. Or, if we’re being honest, an addiction to it. I spent so much time going to restaurants with him and watching him drink cup after cup of what looked like steaming tar, that I eventually forced myself to like it at a young age just so I could be more like him. And it’s a good thing too, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to spend 75% of my high school years sitting in a booth at Denny’s, nursing a bottomless cup until 3am. But I never turned into a coffee snob. Sure, not all coffee tastes great to me, but I’ll probably still drink it. Out of a boot if I have to. BECAUSE I NEED IT. From a gas station? I don’t give a fuck. Made in a Red Roof Inn hotel room? Bring it. Sitting in a cup for so long it needs microwaved for the 5th time? Waste not, want not, or whatever the fuck.
I just have a standard Keurig at home. It gets the job done. I don’t really prefer one brand of K-cups over another (although it gets tricky with some of the flavored coffee; not a fan of mocha), but whenever I get coffee at Starbucks or any other coffee house, it’s almost always iced coffee. And since my stomach wasn’t feeling too proper yesterday morning, I kept trying to get Henry to go out and get me iced coffee because he had the day off (post-Warped Tour recuperation), which basically means he was home to do my bidding. Henry was being incredibly resistent and kept saying things like, “You can just make iced coffee at home!” to which I would scream, “NO I CAN’T BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW HOW.”
I ended up drinking a cup of regular coffee because suddenly Henry has a backbone and I didn’t puke like I thought I was going to. BUT STILL.
Last night, Henry was doing stuff in the kitchen and I was like, “What is he doing? I didn’t tell him to do anything, so he must be doing something that’s not for me.” I mean, how dare he, right? Turns out, he had bought a bag of regular, non-K-cup coffee and was doing that cold press thingie so that I could have iced coffee at home! I wonder if he learned that from A Beautiful Mess.
He was trying to explain to me what to do, but I lost interest pretty quickly. Informational words. Gross.
This morning, I was really excited to have iced coffee before work! I went into the kitchen and spotted a pitcher-thing full of murky coffee-esque substance, so I dumped some into a glass. I vaguely recalled Henry saying to just use a little bit and then fill the rest of the glass with milk, but the stuff came out like quick-moving sludge and filled the glass nearly 3/4 of the way. Something about it seemed off, but I smelled it and it was definitely coffee and not like, I don’t know, mulch.
I topped it off with some almond milk and sweetner and did my best to stir it around the ice cubes, but it was real thick and the clumps just wouldn’t go away. I ended up having to drink it with a straw, but even then so many coffee grounds were getting through that I was actually chewing on them like goddamn java-flavored bubblegum.
Um, this just didn’t seem right to me, so I texted Henry to tell him that he’s a fuck up and I hate him.
“I told you last night that it was steeping and it won’t be ready until I strain it,” he replied.
“Oh. I missed that part,” I said. Maybe if he would make his know-it-all soliloquys more interesting, I would pay attention!
By then, I didn’t have time to make a cup of regular, non-gritty coffee, so I just kept drinking my fucked up iced coffee. I had to floss the grounds out of my teeth before I left for work, which actually probably took as long as brewing a real cup of coffee would have. HINDSIGHT.
There was no real point to this, other than my stomach hurts now and the jitters are eating me from the inside out. I KIND OF WANT TO DRINK/EAT SOME MORE.