Illustration: John Shakespeare
This constant talk about coffee is becoming a grind, writes Margot Schoonmaker.
Coffee makes me cranky. No, I'm not onto my fourth double espresso, I've got the irrits for a different reason.
I am a lone tea drinker in a mass of caffeine fiends, and I've had enough.
I accept that you love coffee. I know that you really, like, really need it. Would you just stop being so bloody antisocial about it?
Being a coffee quaffer does NOT give you an excuse to be a complete jerk in the morning. You emerge from your house, snappy and irritable, skewering every passing human/animal/insect with filthy looks as you head to work. However, as soon as you get that mug in hand, you're skipping around, slapping colleagues on the back and laughing like a deranged hyena.
Was all that drama really necessary? I mean, you haven't even swallowed yet. It's not just the wildly dramatic mood swings, it's the wanky orders. We've gone from "I'll have a flat white please," to "I'll have a double macchiato in a medium cup, skinny almond milk, extra hot, with a tiny dash of foam, a splash of hazelnut syrup and three and a half sugars puhleeze." It's enough to make me retch into my earl grey.
It'd be OK if the snobbery was confined to our cafes, however it's happening in our homes.
It wasn't that long ago when our idea of a swanky coffee was to bring out the International Roast. Now, ordinarily kind-hearted guests snort like pigs when offered a home-made brew. I have a reasonably decent espresso machine, yet I may as well be proffering a mug of steaming hot poo, such is the reaction.
And what about the pod epidemic? Where did that come from? I work near our office kitchen, and have to listen to the relentless gurgling, gargling and clunking of the resident pod machine.
Cold wars break out over who used the last red pod, or whose turn it was to empty the pod catcher thingy.
I'm now drinking black tea, because all the milk gets poured into a tiny machine that turns half a litre of milk into half a cup of foam.
All of this drama, wankyness and caffeine-fuelled angst is affecting my once sunny disposition.
I've taken to secretly guzzling sleepy bobos herbal tea in an attempt to keep myself calm.
The box is covered with pictures of teddy bears wearing underpants, and I don't think I can sink much lower.
Would you please try decaf for me?
No issue is too small to raise Heckler's hackles. Readers can send pieces of about 400 words on what's got their goat to heckler@fairfaxmedia.com.au. Chosen submissions will be published online at smh.com.au/comment. Please include daytime phone details.
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