Black (and not so black) coffee blues

Musings on my relationship with the sacred bean juice throughout the years

Coffee is life. This is common knowledge for many and traces back to ancient times. There are those who drink coffee and then there are those other joyless souls who drink…tea? I don’t know. I don’t associate with those types. 

My relationship with the sacred black water is not overly complicated but maybe a tad interesting only due to the particular timeline that I experienced it in. 

Coffee, for all intents and purposes, was not a luxury beverage for the first half of my life. It was something that you drank to stay awake or to keep warm and it was never a pleasurable experience.

The first Starbucks opened in my hometown of Denver, CO in 1992. I never knew about it and I never drank coffee there. Back then, coffee shops weren’t really a thing…or if they were, they were never on my radar. 

I think I maybe read poetry in a few indie coffee shops back then? But I wasn’t there for coffee. 

To this day I don't typically drink Starbucks unless it’s an emergency and even then, I don’t enjoy it nearly as much as I do home brew. 

I loathe their menu and their specialized vocabulary and culture and bubbly employees hellbent on pointless small talk.

Walking into one of their places (or driving thru) and being forced to participate in the charade is always an exercise in extreme fuckery. 

I just want a cup of fucking coffee and I don’t want to make it “special.” I don't want to have to memorize a whole lingo just to order a goddamn cup. And I certainly don't want you to write my fuckin' name on the cup or do any other kinds of cutsey bullshit. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself.