Except for Tuesday mornings, I rarely get coffee. If I’m having a slow morning, a stressful day at work, or anticipating staying up late, I will get coffee. If I’m planning ahead, I will walk to the coffee shop down the street. They have good coffee and are always cheerful. But more often than not, I will end up stopping at the gas station on the corner, slopping mediocre coffee into a styrofoam cup, topping it off with way too many little creamer containers.
This morning was a coffee morning. A late-for-work-gas-station-coffee morning. Yes, it was going that well, and I wasn’t anticipating that it would get any better.
Which it didn’t.
About 30 min. into my mediocre way-to-work coffee, I proceeded as I do far too often, and this happened:
This is not unusual. In fact, Joe, who sits in the cube next to me, is so accustomed to me spilling my coffee, that he just got up, grabbed a roll of paper towels, and walked them over to me. Uggh. Except this time, when he saw my disaster, he promptly turned around, went to the storage room, and got me ANOTHER roll of paper towels.
Which I didn’t need, I might add, but it wasn’t far fetched. I was soaked from my belly button to my knees. My chair was soaked, the floor was soaked, my desk was covered, and I felt and looked like I had peed my pants.
As I was sharing my story at lunch, one of the guys said, “Saretta, it seems that you have a problem with liquids.”
Ain’t that the truth.