Caffeine Jitters

I’ve had a coffee maker in the office for a little over a year now (though it’s been broken the past two days) so I don’t need to spend my money on morning coffee. Of course I would prefer a serious brew over those weak pods but I’m too cheap and time-pressed to care.

But I used to frequent the coffee cart in front of the Starbucks on Beaver and Broad when I took the M train and the Bulgarian proprietor would always remember my order and butter me up by calling me “beautiful.” The only men who flirt with me are coffee cart guys so I have to take what I can (in my 20s I also got the attention of bodega cashiers, now just coffee carts guys) even if it costs $1.25 for the privilege.

Then I started occasionally taking the R train, which had me walking past the coffee cart guy on Broad and William (I so want to put an S at the end of William). I felt like a traitor to my regular coffee guy who would ask about my weekends and tell me about taking his kids to Sesame Place in Pennsylvania.

This new coffee guy was younger, curt and Arabic. I keep imaging him with Muslim facial hair but I could be totally wrong (I’ll go peek at him on Monday morning). I always wondered if he hated me and would blow up the entire block if given the opportunity.

Of course, as we know it’s the seemingly nice guys who turn terrorist. Reportedly friendly, Najibullah Zazi, worked a cart bearing a God Bless America sticker just down the street.

Every month or so I do stop by my old coffee cart even though I have free coffee at work because I feel guilty on the occasions I take the A train and have to walk on the other side of Beaver super fast so the original coffee guy doesn’t see me even though I’m sure he does sometimes. Yesterday was one of those days.

When I approached the cart, he said, “You don’t love me anymore.” Ah ha, I thought, that’s who’ll blow you up. But I only said, “No, that’s not true, I just take a different train now.”