My Mr. Coffee experience:
I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker until recently when a friend offered a cup of her freshly made hazelnut coffee.
At first my mind tried to fight back. It barraged me with reasons to fight back.
“Hazelnuts aren’t even real”
“It’s too hard to make”
It was a weak fight, I admit.
Weeks passed as I weighed the options. I was away from home and too far from my friend to swindle her out of her coffee so I had to take action.
I gave in and bought a Mr. Coffee, coffee machine.
The choice was easy. Once I saw Mr. Coffee on the shelf I knew it was destiny.
We already had a lot in common.
We both were misters.
We both like to sit on the counter.
We both turn beans into brown stuff.
The choice was clear.
Robot and man, becoming friends.
At the hotel I took my friend from his carboard prison and gave him the best spot on the countertop. The spot without all my other crap.
I smiled at my new friend.
“Oh the stories I bet you could tell…”
I saw the box sitting there on the ground and realized that it must be uncomfortable looking at your old prison.
I gave a wink to Mr. Coffee and promptly destroyed the box with a serious of elbow strikes and jump kicks.
Breavily heavily I muttered, you’re free now. You won’t be returning back to that old cell.
I knew that giving him a comfortable environment would help him produce only the finest coffee. Too much stress can cause the coffee to spoil like you’ll commonly find in non-organic, caged coffee makers.
On the ground, the instruction manual caught my attention. I picked it up and started to open the book but I stopped myself.
If I used these instructions and ‘ordered’ him around then I would be no better than his previous masters. I flung the manual into the trash.
“We are equals Mr. Coffee. You’re not a slave to instructions anymore.”
Without the instructions, I would have to rely on communication and our friendship to get some coffee.
He had a hard day so I told him to rest for the night and we could have him brew his first pot of coffee in the morning as a free man.
I tried to recall how my friend had made the delicious hazelnut coffee. The memory was kinda fuzzy but I got the gist of it, sorta.
I poured some water into the top of the machine and put coffee beans in the other spot.
She pushed some buttons after that so I pushed a few buttons and tried using a voice command.
“Use this water and coffee that I have given you and please use your robot skills to create one pot of hazelnut coffee in the morning, like 5 AM.”
That should do it.
That was the last night I slept well.
The next morning:
I was actually excited when my alarm went off. Today would be different. Today would be the first harvest of coffee from my new friend.
That’s when my world was shattered.
The pot was… empty…
“Mr. Coffee,” I fumed. “Care to explain yourself.”
“I trusted you,” I said, voice softening. “I rescued you. We were friends… best friends.”
The tears welled in my eyes but I couldn’t afford to let him see. I busied myself with getting ready for work and left without another word.
In the lobby of the hotel I caught the scent of the complimentary coffee and made my way to make a cup. The taste was like soot in my mouth.
“Coffee of the peasants,” I thought. Then I realized that this could possibly still be my future. I had to shake those bad thoughts away and head to work.
At least at work I was on light duty thanks to my doctor’s note explaining that I had caught scurvy. Thank God for small miracles.
Neglecting my duties at work gave me time to form a decision. I would forgive my robot for his trickery this morning and try to reconcile the friendship when I got home.
It was Mr Coffee’s first day of freedom and maybe I was asking too much. There was still hope.
Maybe it was the lack of caffeine or maybe it was the scurvy surging through my veins but I sat delirious most of the day trying to think of a joke to tell Mr. Coffee when I got home.
How does an anemic make coffee? She bruise it… hehe, ehh oh well. It was worth a try.
When I got got back to hotel and walked through my door I tried to start the conversation in a cheerful tone.
“Hey buddy. How does an anem…” I froze.
Then I smelled it. It was coffee.
I rushed to the countertop and saw it. He made coffee while I was gone. He brewed coffee to mock me when I was away. I had never been so disrespected in my life.
My body was trembling from the betrayal. It was a mix of loss, sadness, and rage. For some reason, I reached out and touched the pot. The coffee was cold.
This pushed me over the edge. Not only did he wait until I left to make the coffee I had hoped for. He also made it cold just to spite me.
My hands clenched into fists as I prepared to destroy this robot and then I stopped again. A sneer grew across my face as I realized my terrible, awful ideas.
My fists loosened, calmed. I took the pot with the cold mockery coffee and poured it back into the top of the pot, the space where you are supposed to put water.
“You just messed with the wrong guy, Mister Coffee.” I emphasized the word Mister in a derisive tone.
“You know what a mister is, old friend? A mister is nothing. You could have been something great in life. A doctor, a 5-star general, maybe even the president but you settled for being a mister,” I seethed.
He was speechless so I continued.
“Mister means nothing. Mister is a consolation prize that 50% of the human race make up. And that was the best you could do. I don’t know why I trusted you and tried to give you a life but I’m afraid this will be the end for you soon.”
I pushed the brew button with a maniacal smile contorting my face.
“How do you enjoy cannibalism Mr. Coffee. Drink deeply of your own creation because it will be the last drink you have.”
My eyes stared unblinking as I watched his last meal. Consuming his shame. The black nectar flowing through him again.
His last moments were spent drinking his own coffee, double cannibalistic coffee now known to the world as covfefe.