Of Hurried Coffee and Mushrooms

This morning began, unofficially, with a hurried cup of coffee and the smell of mushrooms. It had the beginnings of a bad day.

I stood at the bus stop and tried to drink my hot coffee as quickly as possible. Beverages aren't allowed aboard buses and the bus was scheduled to arrive at any moment. With the lid off, I hoped the exposure would cool the liquid to a drinkable temperature.

The coffee was a dark roast, not as good as the vanilla macadamia nut kona I had the morning before, but still delicious. I found myself rather annoyed at having to rush through it.

Two minutes later, the bus appeared at the bend in the road, a quarter-mile away. I swore mildly and contemplated chugging down the coffee, but something told me I might regret that desperate act with every swallow that followed. As the bus pulled up, I took one last gulp and tossed the half-full (or half-empty) cup into the trash receptacle.

The doors opened and a grinning bus driver greeted me with, "Good morning!" I gave him a weak smile and showed him my pass. He nodded, pressed a button with one gloved hand and raised something to his lips with the other. It was a cup, a cup with a steaming coffee mug logo on it. Then, right before my eyes, the driver did something unspeakable. He took a sip.

I wanted to point and shout (or state in a stern voice), "That's not fair!" But I contained myself, found a seat near the back of the bus and silently stewed. To calm down, I gazed out the window and thought of my coffee, fondly recalling the precious seconds of joy we had shared.

Outside, it was still early morning. It was so early that the morning light looked like it was barely awake and hadn't bothered to comb its hair before showing up for work. It's amazing to see the world change from night to day in a matter of minutes. Granted, you have to wait for the right matter of minutes, but seeing the sunrise is worth the wait. For a short while, the eastern hills were silhouetted, as the black sky became a brilliant shade of blue.

The bus traveled on. Housing developments became open fields. Asphalt and concrete gave way to soil and grass, as though the landscape was slipping into something more comfortable. The smell of mushrooms, from the surrounding farms, seeped into the vehicle through hidden vents and window cracks. It was suddenly difficult to imagine anything without mushroom flavoring, including coffee, especially the driver's coffee, still a sore subject even as I stepped off the bus and boarded the light rail.

I'm now sitting at a cafe, a block away from work, drinking what I’m calling my first "official" cup of coffee. I’m taking my time with this one. Coffee was meant to be enjoyed with slow sips and without hints of mushroom.

Today is Wednesday, the second day of February, one week away from the Year of the Rooster. It also happens to be Groundhog Day, so there may be a chance we’ll all be repeating this day a few more times, which might not be such a bad thing. With respect to coffee, I could use a do over or two.