It Had A Life of Its Own

Last week (?) possibly the week before, I arrived at work, went to the back to unlock my door and hang up my jacket. As I walked up the back stairs, the alluring scent of coffee drew me upwards ever faster.

The tantalizing scent was being emitted from the breakroom. I was agog with delight and wonder. This smell is not one that has been smelled for ages. The coffee pot in the breakroom has not been cleaned since we got it. Some say that was only a year or so ago, I say that it is like 10 years or so but apparently I am wrong.

This coffee that this coffee maker makes is atrocious. To drink it I must add something like 4 heaping spoons of sugar plus cream. And they use coffee creamer, 18%, which tastes ick but free coffee is free coffee. Unless of course ones taste buds are coffee snobs.

And of course mine are.

This smell though, it was a love letter to my Olifactory system. The aroma danced through my nose, delighting me, exciting me that someone had cleaned the coffee maker. This coffee was the nectar of the Gods. I was sure, ambrosia awaited me.

Prior to making myself a cup, I popped into the admin office to ask what he had done to the coffee maker. Was told nothing. Asked if he could smell the coffee I could and was given a weird look. Again, he could not smell it either.

I went into the breakroom. The delectable smell just a mere memory. I checked the coffee pot. It was full. I smelled the pot, and it still smelled burned but I was tricked by the smell. I poured in some cream and sugar and walked back to the admin office.

I stirred my cup. Smelled the brew and shook my head.

I took a sip.

And instantly regretted it.

The coffee came alive in my mouth. A bitter, cloying burnt flavor that coated my tongue and wrapped itself tightly along my taste buds, unwilling to let go.

I swallowed, and that was it. I ran to the breakroom and tossed the rest of the coffee down the drain.

How people can drink that swill is beyond me.