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?!?