So yesterday I bid a teary farewell to my beloved Keurig coffee brewer. After just three years of loyal service, it gasped, spat and died in my arms. I called Keurig’s service team, who assured me they could do nothing about it, then kept asking what they could do for me in unbearably perky tones. (Clearly, HER brewer worked that morning.)
I finally had to say, “Um, you could make me a cup of coffee, SINCE MY BREWER doesn’t seem to be willing to provide me with one.”
Then a repeat of the scripted apology, statement of distancing from the failed product and asked AGAIN what they could for me. I forsaw an endless loop that I had no hope of escaping without coffee, so I ended the call, sighed and hauled out our lovely old coffeemaker, a gift from a dear friend for our 2000 wedding. (The one that still works perfectly after all these years, KEURIG. Take a lesson.)
Today, Henry happened to be in the room when I began the pour-water-measure-coffee-find-blasted-coffee-filters routine. And, when his gaze locked onto the white, cylindrical coffee maker, I realized, this child, in his whole 2.5 years of life, has never observed a real coffee maker in action. If a space ship had landed on his bowl of oatmeal, discharging miniature aliens bearing chocolate, it would have had no more scrutiny than this pot of coffee.
He actually pulled over the stool, sat there watching it and wouldn’t get down until the whole pot was done.
My apologies for the loads of photos and the wonky post-processing. Blame it on the lack of a Keurig brewer.
Contributions to the Hank & Willie Coffee Brewer Fund MOST WELCOME at firstname.lastname@example.org. SAVE ME.