Breaking News: Coffee Pot Dead, Film at Eleven

(Taps playing softly in the background)

In a world where caffiene is king, respect must be paid to the conduit that made it possible to persevere through even the most epically impossible challenges that we faced from day to day.

And so a few words about our Coffee Pot:

You were a Christmas present from our daughter last year and we were very excited to have you in our home.  Not only would you make us coffee in the morning but we could store half a pound of coffee beans in your innards and you would process just the right amount and give us the desired strength of java juice we requested.  Oh, there was joy, joy, joy, down in our hearts to stay.

For several months, it continued. Freshly brewed coffee with the aroma of Starbucks perfectly percolated and seasoned beans filled the air, and our noses, with the awerness of hope and gladness for the day.  Except that day that we got dishwater.  Tis the day we found that the grinder, must be cleaned every third brew, and upon acceptance of that notion, we were once again made new with love for the existence of your most beautifully tasting luxuriousness. 

And so, time passed and you continued to brew most efficiently, or so it seems, as dawn hit our caffinated brains with the realization that you might be raiding the till, as it were.  Coffee bean stores were diminishing at an alarming rate, but still, we did not notice the slavery to your service as we were receiving the temptous brew that made the negativity in our life, a bare afterthought. We gave in to your demands of more frequent cleaning of your grinding chamber, as  your threats of refusal to give us the promising elixor frightened us, and even when moisture began to invade your chamber, we did our duty and the dampness and wet willieness  of ground beans and water were removed.

One bright sunny morning about a month and a half ago, I awoke to hear your name being slandered to a shameful degree. My insolent spouse began to beat at you with bare fists, insulting you and  demanding that you perform as promised.  Yet your rotating filter continued to click and whir,  searching for the correct alignment in which to send hot water through and produce product.  Oh how it would rotate and make the noise, “ting, ting!” as if to say, wait a minute, I got it, I got it, (ting, ting!) nope I don’t got it.  You spoke this way several times, until interface finally met interface and the deed could be properly done.

At that time I felt a pride and honor, because while you consistently caused chaos with clicks and whirs towards my husband, you were gentle and kind to me.  As long as I lined up your arrows and treated you with respect, you continued to colaborate brew and grind effortlessly, coming through for us, with the coffee we craved.  And time went on.

One morning my spouse awoke to pounding and grinding of teeth.  As he seperated me from my madness, he found great taunt in issuing the same bits of advice that I had given him in that moment of  his most infinate rage.  Pride is indeed a fickle mistress, and as we walked away allowing you to click and whir until you finally found the correct brewing position, we hung our heads low.

And then last night, adored confectionary creator of caffiene cullinary craving, you conked out.  As I stood in front of you, listening to your last sad efforts to grind, I knew the end had come for you.  As the little grim reaper of coffeedom took your hand and you passed beyond the veil, I wept a little, selfishly for me, becausefor you, I know , there will be only joy.  You will go on to a place where your grinder will stay clean, and you will always grind and brew the freshest pot of coffee in existence.  Maybe you will even be God’s coffeepot.  And then you can sit back and be proud of each cup of coffee that you brew.

As for me, I will go on.  When I am finished this blog, I will head off to Target in search of a new vessel of veracity, a coffee maker that will give me the true unadulterated cup of caffinated cohesiveness I  and my spouse crave.  Those who feel not enough time has passed, feel not ired at our quickness to replace our receptacle of respite.  After all, it was only a coffee pot.

Have a great day and enjoy your coffee:)

Onward and Upward!

(P.S. This is not a statement on any belief system.  After reading many complaints about the coffee maker on after it’s demise, I decided to go with advice I received a while back and see a negative situation like this as funny instead of being upset or angry.  So verily I leave you now, in a positive frame of mind, to search for a new coffee maker:) )



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4 responses to “Breaking News: Coffee Pot Dead, Film at Eleven

  1. aunt jerry

    Hi, needed a laugh and it worked, our coffeepot went out also but I am not as clever as you, called the company and they replaced it with a new one, so I guess I am just boring aunt jerry and not a future book writer as you seem to be with your imagination and writing to help cheer the day.

  2. Wal-Mart; 12 cup Black & Decker with stainless steel carafe; You see, it’s those damn beans! It becomes an internal struggle between the grinder and the coffee maker. The answer? Black & Decker makes MAN-TOUGH stuff! So it would only stand to reason that their coffee makers would kick ass and take names. And those damn beans? Shitcan beans and go straight for the coffee that grabs the percolator by the throat and DARES it to stop. Community New Orleans Blend Coffee & Chicory. The chicory is like meth for the coffee. Together, they provide the one-two punch that SCARES the coffee pot into brewing an excellent blend of morning zest and dark pleasure from the first cup to the last. I hope that clarifies things… ;-p

  3. Stacey

    ‘Tis but a sad day when one’s coffee pot dies!

    I’m with Jess on the Chicory though. That stuff puts hair on your chest!