Jitters - original ficlet
Jan. 3rd, 2005 07:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yellowhordeJITTERS
"It'll put hair on your chest." My stepfather warned me as I pestered him for a sip of his coffee.
Of course, I didn't actually believe him. Undeterred, I kept bugging him until he caved. Without a word he held out his mug. Triumphantly, I held his mug in my hands and took a hearty swig.
And immediately spit it out.
As my stepfather laughed himself silly, clapping his hands against the tabletop, I made a solemn vow; I would never drink coffee again.
Twenty-five years later I am addicted to the one thing I swore I would never touch again. That first awful taste coupled with the threat of a hairy chest wasn't enough to keep me from my caffeine destiny. Even though many health nuts look down upon my addiction and I find myself wanting to quit, I still fondly recall my very first real cup of coffee.
One chilly morning after suffering through the worst sleepless night of my life, I dragged myself to the hotel to report for work. Unfortunately, I lacked the energy to perform my normal cleaning duties. I was so out of it that if I had extended my arms and shambled along the hall groaning, I could have easily passed for a zombie extra in a B grade horror flick. My problem was compounded by the fact that I had no money so I couldn't buy soda from the vending machines.
Deprived of my normal source of energy, and too proud to borrow change from my co-workers, I resigned myself to suffering. By mid-afternoon I was desperate. I had heard that coffee was a strong stimulant and since it was available in the lobby free of charge to guests and housekeepers alike, I was willing to give it a try.
I wandered over to the coffee table and faced my first choice. Should I have decaffeinated, regular, or robust? Decaffeinated was obviously out of the question. Regular was tempting but the label on the robust carafe promised that it was "a dark and rich eye opener."
I had hit the jackpot.
I quickly filled a Styrofoam cup and was enveloped by the dark, rich aroma. I had always loved the smell of coffee. If only my taste buds had matured along with my mind and body, everything would be golden.
With a hopeful prayer to whatever deity looked after sleep-deprived adults, I took a tentative sip...and spit it out.
Obviously I wasn't a black coffee kind of girl.
Fortunately, all hope was not lost. Cream and sugar to the rescue!
Once again I was faced with a decision. Now would I have the half-and-half, French vanilla, or hazelnut? I ennie-meenie-minnie-moed and ended up with hazelnut. But before I added it to my coffee I peeled back the lid and took a tentative taste - I didn't want any more surprises. Fortunately, it was love at first taste. Hazelnut had a rich sweet flavor that plain sugar just couldn't compete with.
And so began the experiment. I'd add a cream or sugar, take a sip and then add some more. Seven creams and two packets of sugar later I pronounced my coffee drinkable. With all that bitterness disguised by enough sweets to send me into a diabetic coma, I was able to down two cups in short order.
The first thing I noticed was a pleasant warmth seeping through my body. I didn't give the coffee any credit because any hot drink would have caused the same effect. Minutes passed and miraculously I started to feel more awake, more aware than I had felt in a long time. It was as if colors had somehow become brighter, more vivid, more there.
Next thing I knew I was listening to my music while sweeping and mopping the lobby. Earlier I had been dragging, but now, with who knows how much caffeine and sugar surging through my veins, I was moving with pep and purpose for the first time all day. I finished the lobby in record speed and moved on to the public bathrooms. By this time I was bobbing and dancing alone to the music.
My whole body was jittering to the beat while my heartbeat was thundering away in my chest like a frightened rabbit's. I felt out of control and out of breath. I've always fluttered my hands about as I talked, but now they were jumping everywhere like wild things. The scary thing is that I couldn't have stopped if I had wanted to.
All good things must come to and end and eventually I crashed back to Earth. All those scary, wonderful sensations slipped away leaving me feeling even more tired than I had been before. Desperate to recapture that rush of energy, I went back to the coffee table.
Our hostess, Marleen, a pleasant elderly woman with a very friendly disposition, walked up beside me with a smile and tapped me on the shoulder. She then stage-whispered, "Perhaps you should try the decaf, dear."
My wild, out-of-control antics hadn't gone unnoticed, it would seem.
"Decaf?" I echoed blankly.
"That's right."
I snorted laughter, "What would be the point of that?"
THE END
"It'll put hair on your chest." My stepfather warned me as I pestered him for a sip of his coffee.
Of course, I didn't actually believe him. Undeterred, I kept bugging him until he caved. Without a word he held out his mug. Triumphantly, I held his mug in my hands and took a hearty swig.
And immediately spit it out.
As my stepfather laughed himself silly, clapping his hands against the tabletop, I made a solemn vow; I would never drink coffee again.
Twenty-five years later I am addicted to the one thing I swore I would never touch again. That first awful taste coupled with the threat of a hairy chest wasn't enough to keep me from my caffeine destiny. Even though many health nuts look down upon my addiction and I find myself wanting to quit, I still fondly recall my very first real cup of coffee.
One chilly morning after suffering through the worst sleepless night of my life, I dragged myself to the hotel to report for work. Unfortunately, I lacked the energy to perform my normal cleaning duties. I was so out of it that if I had extended my arms and shambled along the hall groaning, I could have easily passed for a zombie extra in a B grade horror flick. My problem was compounded by the fact that I had no money so I couldn't buy soda from the vending machines.
Deprived of my normal source of energy, and too proud to borrow change from my co-workers, I resigned myself to suffering. By mid-afternoon I was desperate. I had heard that coffee was a strong stimulant and since it was available in the lobby free of charge to guests and housekeepers alike, I was willing to give it a try.
I wandered over to the coffee table and faced my first choice. Should I have decaffeinated, regular, or robust? Decaffeinated was obviously out of the question. Regular was tempting but the label on the robust carafe promised that it was "a dark and rich eye opener."
I had hit the jackpot.
I quickly filled a Styrofoam cup and was enveloped by the dark, rich aroma. I had always loved the smell of coffee. If only my taste buds had matured along with my mind and body, everything would be golden.
With a hopeful prayer to whatever deity looked after sleep-deprived adults, I took a tentative sip...and spit it out.
Obviously I wasn't a black coffee kind of girl.
Fortunately, all hope was not lost. Cream and sugar to the rescue!
Once again I was faced with a decision. Now would I have the half-and-half, French vanilla, or hazelnut? I ennie-meenie-minnie-moed and ended up with hazelnut. But before I added it to my coffee I peeled back the lid and took a tentative taste - I didn't want any more surprises. Fortunately, it was love at first taste. Hazelnut had a rich sweet flavor that plain sugar just couldn't compete with.
And so began the experiment. I'd add a cream or sugar, take a sip and then add some more. Seven creams and two packets of sugar later I pronounced my coffee drinkable. With all that bitterness disguised by enough sweets to send me into a diabetic coma, I was able to down two cups in short order.
The first thing I noticed was a pleasant warmth seeping through my body. I didn't give the coffee any credit because any hot drink would have caused the same effect. Minutes passed and miraculously I started to feel more awake, more aware than I had felt in a long time. It was as if colors had somehow become brighter, more vivid, more there.
Next thing I knew I was listening to my music while sweeping and mopping the lobby. Earlier I had been dragging, but now, with who knows how much caffeine and sugar surging through my veins, I was moving with pep and purpose for the first time all day. I finished the lobby in record speed and moved on to the public bathrooms. By this time I was bobbing and dancing alone to the music.
My whole body was jittering to the beat while my heartbeat was thundering away in my chest like a frightened rabbit's. I felt out of control and out of breath. I've always fluttered my hands about as I talked, but now they were jumping everywhere like wild things. The scary thing is that I couldn't have stopped if I had wanted to.
All good things must come to and end and eventually I crashed back to Earth. All those scary, wonderful sensations slipped away leaving me feeling even more tired than I had been before. Desperate to recapture that rush of energy, I went back to the coffee table.
Our hostess, Marleen, a pleasant elderly woman with a very friendly disposition, walked up beside me with a smile and tapped me on the shoulder. She then stage-whispered, "Perhaps you should try the decaf, dear."
My wild, out-of-control antics hadn't gone unnoticed, it would seem.
"Decaf?" I echoed blankly.
"That's right."
I snorted laughter, "What would be the point of that?"
THE END
