I make lousy coffee. I do, just ask my mom. She knows her coffee and she’s been drinking several cups of it a day since she was a little girl. I don’t have the coffee gene because I’m more of a tea drinker and not much of a coffee drinker. I either add too many grounds and not enough water so it’s too strong or I add too much water and not enough grounds, which make my concoction too weak. So you can imagine my horror one morning at work when my boss said, “Make some coffee” for clients who were coming in for a morning meeting.
I must admit, my first thought was, What is this the 1950s where the secretary makes the office coffee? The boss is older and what I call “old school” so he probably expected such tasks to be “woman’s work”. If there had been a barn behind the office building I’m sure he might have asked me to get some fresh milk while I was at it.
|I don't think so.|
I went into the conference room and stood staring at the coffee machine, which looked nothing like what I was used to. In hindsight I should have high-tailed it over to the nearest Dunkin Donuts and filled the pot with their brew. Instead, I resolved to make a pot of fresh, hot coffee. I found the filters with no problem. But when I went searching for coffee grounds I found beans instead. Oh crap! I have to grind them? At this point I had to refer to the machine’s directions for use. Perhaps I suppose I should have stopped while I was ahead at this point.
It seemed easy enough. First, add the beans and push the button to grind them. Then, add water and brew. The first part I had no trouble with. The second part is where things got a bit messy, as it was unclear exactly where to pour the water into. After a few moments I noticed a leak coming from under the blasted contraption. I grabbed some paper towels but the leak was growing so I grabbed a nearby saucer. When the saucer filled up I walked as quickly and nonchalantly past the boss’s office to the kitchen to empty it.
After my third trip back from the kitchen, my boss came to see what was going on. He surveyed the situation and smirked at me while shaking his head, the way a mother looks at a cute but mischievous child. I felt like Lucy Ricardo after Ricky caught her doing something silly and I half expected him to say, “Sandy, you got some ‘splaining to do” in a Cuban accent.
I finished cleaning the mess and the boss did what he probably should have done from the beginning; he made the coffee himself. I made sure our guests had milk – from the refrigerator not a cow out back. Luckily for our future office guests, and me, he never asked me to brew a pot again. Instead, he asked the other girl in the office.