It was a Monday, but you could have guessed that. The day had progressed with out much incident, possibly leading up to the tragedy that was to overtake the quiet night. After a wonderful meal with family, sights were set on making a pot of coffee. Not just any pot, a perfect pot, one that, once brewed, would lead to a perfect cup.
Freshly washed, steam still escaping from the dishwasher. the travel mug, tall, majestic and proudly displaying the Tim Horton’s logo stood at the ready beside the coffee machine, waiting. Next to the mug a myriad of choices; sugar, sweetener, skim milk, 2%, cream… the combinations were endless.
Finally, with only moments to spare before departure for night class, the spoon was withdrawn from the mug, having just possibly stirred the most perfect cup of coffee.
But we will never know.
What happened next was the beginning of the end, it may be hard to read and even harder to accept, but the facts are as follows.
With little time left, the top was firmly placed on the travel mug, sealing in the fresh perfection of its contents. There was some confusion and, for a moment, the mug was almost forgotten on the counter, a possible tragedy in its self, but the mug left with me as I left the house. I thanked my host and barista extraordinaire and headed for my car. Having multiple bags filled with various implements of learning, I opened the driver’s side door, placed the travel mug on the roof of the car and began to load my cargo.
Now seated comfortably, I turned the key and began my travel to class.
There was a sudden thump, like something was settling in the trunk. I thought nothing of it, at first, but as I drew closer to my destination a sick, sinking feeling overtook me.
My Coffee! Nooooo!!!!
The evidence was clear, leaving no doubt. Not only was there no trace of the travel mug inside my car, but there was a sprawling, dripping mess emanating from where the travel mug once stood at guard upon my car roof. The sight was horrifying, the revelations beyond disturbing. This coffee had never even been tasted, not even one sip. Its true greatness never realized. The travel mug had been lost, possibly damaged, destroyed altogether, or never to be seen again. The horror was too much and I called for support and help from the only one I could, my barista extraordinaire.
The call from my cell phone was sketchy and cut out in mid call. I was traumatized, a wreck… and worse yet, without coffee.
And perhaps the story could have ended there, but there was a light yet to shine; a text message of hope.
It read simply “Found the mug!”
