Nobody likes me
Now I am a man without a country, because every country loves coffee. When someone in the office stands up to announce that they're "running to get coffee!", as all people in all offices do at all times, they avert their eyes from me like I'm Medusa, because Medusa has never heard of Blue Bottle. I am the Untouchable.
When it inevitably comes out amongst new people that I don’t funnel 18 gallons of Stumptown a day, everyone looks at me like I’m some sort of six-headed freak, although they likely see all people as having between five and eight heads thanks to all that caffeine ravaging their synapses.
“Wait, you mean you don’t drink coffee AT ALL?” “Nope.” “How do you… do things???” “I just do them.” “Oh my god, if I don’t have my coffee, let me tell you, I…” And then comes the terrifyingly predictable list of things they wouldn’t be able to do without it: “wake up”, “get going”, “function”, and, again, “poop”.
Look: it hurts. Nobody wants to be the outsider, except C. Thomas Howell, Matt Dillon, Ralph Macchio, etc. But my little (former) secret is I’m judging you right back. You say “I need my coffee”, and there’s something of a brag in there. You flaunt your “addiction”. But you’re not hooked; you just like it. How many times have you been $.20 short of a Grande, and had no choice but to service a dude in the coffee shop bathroom, BEFORE YOU EVEN BUY A COFFEE, WHICH IS SOMETHING THEY STRONGLY FROWN UPON?!?
And yet I’m the one made to feel guilty when I “confess” that I’m not part of the grand caffeinated charade. There’s not jealousy that I’m free of its clutches; there’s suspicion and borderline rancor that I might be so brazen as to not conform via the cup, too. And so I sit outside the clubhouse, waiting for the kids to invite me in. They never do.
And no, I don’t want a decaf either. But thanks.