K is Evil

A year or so ago, she decided that she wanted to become a coffee connoisseur and open her own coffee shop.  I suspect that desire has fallen a bit by the wayside, which I can not judge because I too have a tendency to latch onto an idea, only to burn myself out on it, or determine, sometimes prematurely, that I can’t make it work and give up before I ever even get started.

K became a coffee snob, determining that the free coffee we have hear at work, though available in more flavors and varieties than the average non-coffee nerd could think of, was no longer acceptable for her to drink.  We have a machine that makes one individual cup of coffee at a time so the coffee is always fresh brewed and she’s in control of the ordering so she could have any variety she wanted, but it simply was beneath her sensibilities… suddenly.  More power to her.  If she wants to go across the street and pay $4.00 for a latté a couple times a day, great!

At one point, she wanted to learn how to roast her own beans and learn the intricacies involved in bringing out various flavors depending on what kind of beans you’re using and how long they’re roasted and possibly a bunch of other criterion I couldn’t even begin to guess.  She started following coffee nerds on Twitter and found coffee Nazi forums on-line.  Along the way she managed to connect with coffee people and won a contest to get some free coffee of various types and flavors which leads us to her evilness.

See, some of the coffee that K won was flavored, odiferous coffee.  Things like Chocolate Fudge, Chocolate Mint and Caramel Apple.  She got her hands on a whole portable set up and brought her coffee and accoutrement to work and has stored it in the cupboard under the counter on which our unsuitable coffee maker sits.  So now, every time I go back to get a cup of coffee from our perfectly lovely, one cup at a time, always hot and fresh coffee maker, I get a whiff of her delicious smelling coffee beans in the cupboard.  My mouth starts to water and I lick my lips in anticipation of the wonderful flavors my mind tricks itself into believing I’ll enjoy.  I mean, I’m making a cup of coffee and I smell a delicious smelling kind of coffee, it only stands to reason that the coffee I’ll be drinking will taste like what I smell, right?  I bring my hot, fresh coffee back to my office and take the first sip and—Ho hum.  Booorrrriiiinnngggg.

K is evil!

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