I was not a coffee drinker until around 1998. Up until that point, my caffiene consumption came from a steady stream of diet coke and hot or iced tea. I loved the smell of coffee, and had tried to drink it a few times, but it was always too bitter for me. My coffee addiction was a treat from Klucker.
I had spent the night at his apartment and when we got up the next morning, he started a pot of coffee. No worries, I would get a diet coke from White Castle on my way home. As he piddled in the kitchen, he asked me how I took my coffee. Ummmm, what do I say . . . he'd already poured a cup. I hestitated. I stammered. In typical Klucker fashion, he didn't even pay attention, poured in the half and half and handed me the cup. I'd gotten myself into a fine mess. Because I didn't speak up soon enough, now I would have to drink this drudge. I struggled through the cup and quickly responded when he asked if I need more. This issue perpetuated itself because each time I stayed there, he made coffee and began to not even ask if I wanted any. I just got a cup. Eventually, I grew to like coffee, very strong coffee and I told Klucker my secret.
So began my addiction to coffee. My morning soda on the way to work tranformed into a morning coffee. I need a travel mug. I bought one from Bread Co. It leaked. I had coffee stains on my suits at least three days a week. I tried another plastic one. My coffee got cold. I learned that stainless steel was the way to go. The next dilemma was the right top. It needed to be able to close, but I didn't like the push button mechanisms. Ahhh, the flip top lid--perfect. Handles were nice, but they busted off if you drop the mug a lot as I sometimes do. I probably went through about six different mugs over ten years before I found what I thought was the mug. I light red Starbucks' mug. The color was a little faded, but it met every other standard. I bought it without looking at the price and treated it like it was made of gold, for about two months.
See, I made a new friend, G. G worked at another location in my district. We'd talked before, but it was usually business-related, blah, blah, blah. Somehow we ended up the last two awake at a work retreat. We talked about all sorts of things, including coffee and Valentine's Day. I had asked what he was getting his wife. He asked what I thought Klucker would do for me. I easily answered that by saying, "nothing." Klucker and I don't do gifts for Valentine's Day. That was that.
The next week was the big VD. G called me. That was rare. He asked me to come over to his building, he had something for me. Now I was worried. What impression had I given him? I got there and he led me into his office and closed the door. This was gonna be a fine mess. I tentatively took the box and opened it as he explained that he felt that a lady should always get a gift for Valentine's Day and it had bothered him that I wouldn't have one. I opened the lid. There it was, the perfect mug. It was a sister to my other one, only this was a beautiful, deep red--the color of a perfectly ripened cherry. I squealed in delight.
That was three years ago this year. I still treat my perfect mug like it's gold. It shows some signs of wear from the heavy use I put on it. But it comforts me as much as my morning coffee does. It makes me smile when I think of it's story. It reminds me of the joy that comes from unexpected gifts and wonderful surprises.
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