One of my favorite forms of writing is the short essay. The idea of the essay is that while its details are specific, its theme appeals on a more general level. I found essays especially fun to write, probably because, for me, writing them felt a lot like journaling. Plus, they were easier for me to infuse with humor, more so than most other forms of writing. I can't say that my essay topics were always of an immensely riveting nature (to which the one below will attest), but anything was fair game, and they usually found some audience that could relate. The following is a relatively recent essay, written in January, 2011.
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Coffee Conundrum
I have the ability to expend absurd amounts of mental energy
on entirely hypothetical situations. One example is the conundrum of hotel room
coffee makers. I rarely, if ever, make use of the small coffee pot and
complimentary packets of coffee provided in most hotel rooms. My need for morning
caffeine is just never so great that I feel the need to mess with it,
especially since there is almost always a Starbucks or some other quality crack
coffee provider along my route on any given day when I’m traveling.
My mother, however, recently mentioned to me how good she
finds that first cup of coffee to taste in the morning when she wakes when
traveling and makes her little hotel room pot of coffee. Really? I had no idea. I mean, my mom was the queen of coffee
drinking when I was growing up. We used to joke that she'd drink a steaming cup
of coffee on the hottest day of the summer -- and she did. (And now I do. But
that's beside the point.)
My mom loves her coffee, but she has never developed into a
coffee snob. As a child, I remember her drinking instant coffee. I can still
taste that bitter liquid known as Taster's Choice. I never acquired a taste for
it as I got older, not that I ever tried that hard. She did have a percolator
back then - as did all good homemakers of her generation - but it only came out
when there was company coming.
I was probably in high school when the first Mr. Coffee came
to live with us, and thus the cans of Folgers and Maxwell House started to
appear. Better than instant, to be sure, but it still took me well into my
twenties before coffee became a regular part of my daily life.
Once Starbucks and the other fancy coffee places began
making their marks, though, I became enamored. Why have plain old coffee when
you can have a grandé café mocha, skim, with whipped? In the event that I didn't want all
of that sugar and fluff, there was still coffee from Dunkin' Donuts and Panera.
Good, rich, flavorful coffee, the likes of which I don't think ever came from
the House of Maxwell.
Then, a few years ago, my in-laws took a trip to Hawaii
and, mercifully, in lieu of a souvenir t-shirt that I’d never wear, they
brought me an eight ounce package of Hawaiian coffee goodness. Since then, let's
just say I've been doing my part to help keep the economy of that island state alive
by ordering several bags of Molokai coffee beans each year.
But hotel coffee? It just never dawned on me that I should
make use of that little packet of coffee grounds sitting on my hotel bathroom
counter. (Really, of all places?)
And so it was that I found myself in a hotel room recently,
shortly after that conversation with my mom. I was brushing my teeth as I got
ready for bed, and I considered the tiny pot with its accompanying coffee and
plastic-encased creamer, sugar and napkin. I started to wonder, what does the
housekeeping staff think when people do not make use of these items? Does it faze
them at all? (Probably not.) Or might it even offend them that I chose to ignore their coffee offering?
I could,
of course, just not be a coffee drinker, how would they know...except for the discarded Starbucks
cups in the waste can. So, why spend my money on those other coffees but not drink
the coffee they've (or the hotel has) offered? Am I too good for this coffee? This coffee that they've taken the effort
to arrange neatly in the cheap little wicker basket on the bathroom counter?
Who do I think I am, anyway, not to drink their bathroom coffee?
I have a momentary feeling of guilt over this. Guilt for
not drinking the “free” coffee that I've paid for by paying for my room. I feel
like I need to apologize or something.
And then, confounded by this moral dilemma, I spit out my
toothpaste, rinse my mouth and decide: I really need to get a life.
