Java Caper

I just enjoyed an excellent cup of coffee, probably my hundredth since the great java caper that took place a couple of weeks ago. It occurred on a day when I was short of time, short of patience, and, at the moment, short of ready cash. I remembered at a late afternoon moment that I'd ground the last of my Columbian beads that morning and would be out the following morning unless I broke from my writing and went to buy some. That was a frightening thought.

Two immediate issues arose though. I'd put myself on a budget that I'd already exceeded (I'm trying to focus on saving money now rather than spending it) and not every nearby store offered coffee beans rather than ground canned coffee. Another fact was that recently, even when I traveled to my favorite grocery store, the coffee I preferred was often sold out. I needed to come up with a creative solution that would circumvent unnecessary travel, fit within the cash I had in my weekly reserve, and meet my taste bud's demands. It occurred to me that the closest place might be a nearby hotel/shopping complex known for its trendy shops and restaurants. They had to have a Starbucks, I thought.

Turned out they didn't. Still determined to find someone with some beans I stuck my head in several of the coffee shops and bakeries located throughout the complex. Finally, one young employee said, "oh yes, we sell coffee beads, but I need to call my manager because I don't know how to do it."

I didn't want to create a problem for her, she was in the shop alone, so I told her that was okay, and decided that I'd better just go on to my grocery store and forget my not-so-good idea that I'd find coffee beans in the hotel. Before either of us could speak the "manager" walked in, a nice young fellow, all smiles, and he said he'd be happy to help me. I told him a pound of Columbian would be just fine and then both he and the young hostess revealed that there was another employee who normally handled the coffee beans who was out ill and neither of them really knew what they were doing. He did know the price of a pound though. It was $11.28 and while I paid him he instructed the hostess to go get my beans.

As the cash register rang out my sale she asked him what bag she should put the beans in. He told her one of the white ones. In a moment she came to the cash register with my purchase and proceeded to staple the bag closed but it was so full she could barely close it. I laughed and said, "Oh no, there are far too many beans in there! That's a lot of beans!" The manager just smiled and nodded. "Our problem," he quipped. "We don't know what we're doing, so this is what you get for your money today." He wouldn't hear of my continued protests and ushered me kindly out of the shop.

I'm a keeper, so I had a few vacuum coffee bags of my own at home. When I got there I began to fill a few of them from the now bursting at the seams white bag. A few turned out to be six coffee bags -- filled to the brim. I'd been given no less than eight pounds of coffee for the price of one. It wasn't Columbian, by the way, but it is a divine flavor that I assure you is now my favorite. Still, as much as I enjoy and have enjoyed every cup, I do so with a sense of guilt. But ah, the aroma and taste of this guilty pleasure!