The other day I was on my way to work on the Red Line and my longtime nemesis sits down on the adjacent front-facing seat. He doesn’t know he’s my enemy, of course, nor the fact that I’ve sworn a blood oath to scorn anyone who uses those damnable sippee thermos/mugs to drink their coffee.
I don’t drink coffee. It’s disgusting, tastes like dirt, makes your breath stink, and turns your teeth nasty colors. I’ll grant it smells good, but the latter nowhere near makes up for the former.
I don’t mind coffee drinkers in general, though, except the aforementioned thermos-sipping-yuppie types. This guy is one of them. Perfect little black thermos with its perfect little black handle so he can hold his elbow out at that perfect angle and take his perfect little sips. And I get a nostril full of aroma after every perfect little sip. It’s hard to concentrate on my book because I’m dreaming of how I’ll unleash my fury if for some reason the train stops short and his scalding brown water ends up in my lap.
“That’s why they don’t allow drinks on the Metro you MORON!!!”
“Your cute little thermos isn’t spill-proof after all, huh?”
“Why can’t you drink coffee like a man?!?!”
Lucky for him, he gets off a few stops later.
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