All Jacked Up

[powerpress]

Thousands of people get their day started with a stop at the local we-are-hipper-than-you coffeehouse. And every show from “Friends” to “Frasier” has a coffeehouse where the characters hang out. Coffee is huge.

But I was a heavy coffee drinker long before there was a Starbucks on every corner. I have a bumper sticker on my car that says, “I Was Coffee before Coffee Was Cool.” It is pasted over my old sticker, “Coffee Lovers Do It with Bitterness”.

I love coffee. I like to be totally wired. Some people cut back when coffee makes them jumpy. I drink cup after cup until my hands are shaking like the paint can mixers at Sears.

It was bad in high school. I drank coffee before school, after school and during school. I walked down the halls with a thermos attached to my belt. I thought about coffee all day. The other kids in metal shop made lamps. I made a ‘Mr. Coffee’ machine.

In college it was worse. I drank so much coffee I didn’t sleep for all eight years. My eyes had more bags than a socialite takes on a trip to the south of France. It finally ended when I graduated. I moved into a cave with some bears just to get to some sleep.

I remember the first time I tried coffee. My dad let me have a sip of his coffee. It was bitter and gritty. It tasted like it came from an airplane engine. My face puckered up and then caved in on itself. I looked like a seven-year-old doing an impression of Bob Dole.

Little did I know that years later I would buy an industrial strength espresso maker that cost more than a Lexus. It does everything. It makes coffee. It makes espresso. It has a computer screen linked to the Internet that tracks international coffee shipments so I know when the freshest beans will get to my store.

I like strong coffee. So strong my head snaps back and I yell, “Yeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaahhhhhh! Woooooooooooooooooohhhhhooooooooo! That is strong coffee!”

Remember that news story about a lady who sued McDonald’s because she spilled her coffee and burned herself? She said McDonald’s coffee is too hot. I don’t think coffee is ever hot enough. I want it so hot it burns an ulcer in my stomach the size of a hockey puck. When I buy coffee I want them to hold the cup with metal tongs while wearing asbestos suits and welding masks.

One of my favorite places to drink coffee is in the car. Once I drove from California to Texas to visit my brother. I drove the whole way without getting out of the car. I had a rental car equipped with a 20-gallon industrial coffee urn and a big box of Depends.

Many coffee junkies collect mugs. I have everything from promotional mugs with company names on them to a mug I made in summer camp that is shaped like the head of an Indian chief. I also own the world’s biggest mug. It looks like a grain silo. In case of a nuclear attack the army could use it to launch missiles.

I love coffeehouses. For the true coffee lover a coffeehouse is a religious experience. In fact, I would love to go to mass at Starbucks. That way I could sit all Sunday morning reading the paper and not miss church. After mass they could have bingo in the basement.

I used to party with all the heavy coffee drinkers: Mrs. Olson, Juan Valdez. But you have to be careful with coffee. Sometimes people lose control. I see them strung out, sitting on the sidewalk outside coffeehouses, begging for anything, “You got any lattes, man? A spare cappuccino?”

Oh, they started innocently enough. A few cups of coffee with friends. They were “social drinkers.” But pretty soon they are in a bad part of town listening to guys whispering, “What do you need? I just picked up some killer Colombian mocha. I got a pot of it right here. Just try a cup, man!”

Eventually they lost everything: job, home, Radio Shack Battery Club card. Their only hope is to face their demons in a twelve-step program.

“Hi, my name is Joe. I’m a Coffeeholic.”

“Hi, Joe.”