On a recent morning, I decided to grab a cup of dark roast coffee at a Starbucks I often stop at on my way to work. A great group of young people work there and they nearly always serve up a fine brew with kindness and courtesy. On this particular morning, however, things started going south shortly after I pulled up to the drive-through window. I gave the young man $2.85 for my $2.84 order, and he handed me the cup of coffee. Almost immediately, the 85 cents in coins seemed to confuse the young gentleman. Granted, I had fished around in my change drawer to come up with a quarter, five dimes and two nickels, and the combination of coins seemed to present quite a challenge to his powers of arithmetic. Eventually, he had to pull out a calculator to finish the job. In the meantime, I’m sitting there feeling like the lord of all tightwads while waiting for my penny in change, but I didn’t want to just drive off because sometimes I screw up and hand over the wrong amount. As I waited, however, a foul odor that can only be described as the smell of decomposition began to fill the inside of my car. Penny in hand, I began to pull away as the odor of dead, decaying animal carcass grew in power and potency. Thinking perhaps some varmint had crawled up under the hood and died, and the vent was blowing the smell into the cab, I quickly turned off the fan. But this did nothing to stifle the inescapable smell of death that now surrounded me. Then my attention turned to the cup of coffee. I picked it up and took a sniff. The horror! From what ancient crypt did this foul brew flow? Quickly, I weighed my options. There was no way I was going to drink this roadkill roast that currently sat in my cup holder. But I couldn’t survive a morning of work without a cup of joe. Fortunately, another coffee shop lay up ahead and I swerved into their lot. After pouring the java of death into a sewer grate, I went inside and explained my predicament to the young ladies behind the counter. They set me up with a fresh cup of brew for which I tipped them generously. I held the steaming cup to my nose and took a big whiff. Ahh, it smelled like charred wood and fresh dirt, just the way I like it.
Tag: coffee
Rioters and federal agents spotted sharing coffee and doughnut break in Portland
Video footage out of Portland might lead one to conclude that the entire city is embroiled in one sprawling melee. However, aside from a two block area that resembles war torn Sarajevo, it’s business as usual for the rest of the city as peace and calm reign. Break free of the tear gas, and your senses are welcomed by the scent of fresh baked scones. Turn away from the fires and blinding lights, and have your eyes dazzled by the sight of colorful flowers and festive balloons decorating the shops. In some areas of Portland, the streets even echo with laughter. Does anybody remember laughter?
Such was the scene as rioters and federal agents took time off from pummeling each other to go grab coffee and doughnuts in Portland Tuesday. Witnesses described the gathering as “spirited” as the group mostly swapped war stories from their weeks-long stand-off.
“The doughnuts are on Uncle Sam,” said an unmarked, unidentified federal agent as he passed out treats to the delight of agents and rioters. “Take all you want. The federal coffee and doughnut budget has no ‘holes’ in it,” the agent quipped to a chorus of sarcastic chuckles and groans.
According to witnesses, the group “joked” and “clowned around” as they mockingly recreated scenes from the previous night’s clash. One moment that seemed to elicit howls of laughter from the group saw a federal agent put a rioter in a headlock and smash doughnuts on his face.
Some onlookers questioned whether the opposing sides of such a bitter and important struggle should be carrying on like friends and colleagues.
“Aw shucks, we can’t be sore at each other 24/7,” said one masked anarchist. “Anyhoo, this isn’t our first go around. We’ve faced off against some of these guys dozens of times. After a while, you begin to form bonds and friendships. I’ve been invited to their homes for dinner. I’ve met their families.”
The feeling was mutual on the law enforcement side.
“Hey we just want these kids to be safe,” said one agent. “So we help them out. We check out their helmets, body armor and shields, and make sure all their equipment is functioning properly. Also, after a night of screaming and chaos, it’s important to get together like this and decompress, play cards and chill for a bit. Who said civil unrest has to be a total drag?”
After about an hour of camaraderie and spirited horseplay, the lead agent dismissed the group for the day. “Go home, get some rest and report to the staging area at 2100 hours. Let’s give ‘em a show tonight. The world is watching people. They’re sitting in their quiet living rooms looking to us to show them a path toward peace and justice. So come prepared to fuck shit up.”
If there is something 