Coffee Conundrum

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.