Every day, one of my coworkers comes in with a black coffee maker, two containers of sugar and a bottle of milk, and another container of fragrant coffee. And he makes java twice while we’re working-one for when we first get there, and a fresh pot for 2nd break. It’s good coffee, somehow better than I could ever do, even though it’s just ordinary. Sometimes another coworker offers a flavoured coffee to use instead of the normal grounds. Then the scent of vanilla or hazelnut wafts over us as we work.
It’s become a little treat-one small thing to look forward to on shift, and we really miss it when my coworker doesn’t show up. We complain and grumble at the lack of the fresh hot coffee, when he’s not there, more so than the fact that we now also have to do his workload. It’s the java we miss, the caffeine fix, the ritual of finding a mug that fits our hand, or our mood, or using the only blue glass mug, which looks like a photograph all the time and is really such an art piece even though it’s only unadorned, coloured glass.
It makes the shift a little more manageable, a little more fragrant, after all.
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