Dining Hall Dare
The coffee machine? Seriously? Somebody’s cheap concept of coffee, instantly available at the touch of a button?
Memories of summer camp are often sprinkled with pranks and practical jokes, dares and disasters. I recently had the privilege of being counselor at one such camp. Teenagers were swinging from trees, chasing bears, playing games, and having a great time enjoying the beauty of nature. At dinner one fateful evening, one of the girls had an idea, which was immediately deemed to be brilliant by all but me. She decided that I should blog about the coffee machine.
The coffee machine? Seriously? Somebody’s cheap concept of coffee, instantly available at the touch of a button? This was cause for great consternation on my part. According to camp tradition, one cannot refuse a reasonable challenge. Since this dare was not illegal, immoral, dangerous, or particularly fattening, I did not have any excuse. Hence the topic of today’s blog.
I felt oddly cowed by the task before me. The machine was branded as Maxwell House, but that gave me no comfort. I don’t know Maxwell House from any other grocery store brand. Even as I placed the cup beneath the spitting nozzle, I knew that I could still stop. I could simply turn away and leave the building. The clouds and sky and rocks and chirping little birdies were all waiting for me just outside the doors. All I had to do was go… but I couldn’t. I’ve told the girls often of my quest for new adventures. They were there at the inception of my blog, and know that I would not let my hate for coffee dictate my actions. I had to go through with it, or I would never live it down, and my status as adventure-seeker would be forever sullied.
I started with regular coffee. It poured into the cup at an odd irregular angle, making a sloshing sound against the plasticized cardboard. At the table, I sat for a moment, dividing my time between staring at the brown liquid and ignoring it, hoping it would go away. I was partially avoiding it, but it was also extremely hot. The girls around the table wanted to participate, so they took turns smelling my coffee. Kyle remarked, “It smells like coffee. Get over yourself.” Laughing, I took my first sip. Faith giggled and pointed that I drink coffee, “pinkies up.” I usually forget that I’m doing it. I drink coffee, tea, and most beverages with my pinky finger sticking out like some 17th century British wanna-be. In fact, as I’m writing at this very moment, I realize that I also type that way – with the thumb and first two fingers of each hand, pinkies sticking out. Kyle said, “Do you do this everywhere you go? Make faces while the baristas laugh at you?” I know I was making some pretty foul faces. Some of them may have even been fowl faces, but I’m not certain that chickens even make faces. I don’t really do that everywhere – especially not in polite company – but I didn’t figure that I needed to impress anyone with formality.
The flavor was very dark and burnt. It tasted a bit like roasted pinecones and was just as prickly. I took several sips, and the girls asked why I continued to drink it. I told them I had to give it a chance - there might have been something I was missing. Kyle took the cup, smelled it, and announced, “creamer.”
I next tried a cappuccino, but discovered a problem. Since I didn’t want a full cup I pushed the stop button, but the drink didn’t finish. At first I thought the machine was broken, but then realized that absence of coffee in the sweetened milk was entirely my fault. It was disgusting – since I don’t like warmed sweetened milk – but it does not reflect on the machine’s ability to make cappuccino. To replace the cappuccino, I tried the mocha, patiently waiting for it to fill. It didn’t really help. The mocha was bland, flavorless, and sweetishly nasty. It was promptly discarded.
The experience was traumatizing. I cannot see myself experimenting with another such machine in the near future. I was concerned that I might actually have mental scars. However, all such worries were soon forgotten. When I stepped outside, I saw the glorious American flag waving in the billowing breeze. I was reminded of what it is to be free – free to explore the great outdoors, free to write my unvarnished opinion, free to worship in whatever way I choose, free to drink nasty coffee… if I really wanted to.
