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The Eclectic Pen - Woes of a Caffeine Delivery System

By: Sabiel C. (sabu423)   + 4 more  
Date Submitted: 7/6/2007
Last Updated: 8/23/2007
Genre: Humor & Entertainment » Humor
Words: 468
Rating:

Woes of a Caffeine Delivery System He slammed my water reservoir into place. I winced as the unfiltered hydrogen-oxygen combo sloshed around, slowly running through my semi-clogged veins. The lazy jackass couldn’t even put it through the Brita first. I should induce a clot just to see the pained expression on his acne-ridden face. So worthwhile. He plugs me in brutally, as if he’s trying to stab the socket into submission. I puff out a considerable cloud of steam in defense of the powerless power outlet, to no avail. Maybe he’s blind or something. If he is, he’s quite apt at bossing me around like I’m a 7-11, open for business regardless of federal holidays, or whatever. Regarding his other senses, he’s probably not deaf, but he’s certainly a bloody moron. If he had an ounce of intelligence or compassion, he would run the nontoxic, non-irritant cleaning solution that came in my box once or twice a month, at least. I’m fairly certain said box is gathering dust in the storage room in the basement, along with the upgraded milk steaming attachment that leaves less residue all over my insides which he got for his birthday two years back. He scowls at me. I know what he is thinking...the impatient spoiled brat fails to grasp that the faster I work, the lower the quality of my product. I suspect he really is some kind of idiot savant or something. He’s good at math. I remember from when he brought me up to his bedroom that night he was up cramming for that algebra final. He had me churning out shot after shot of scaldingly hot, sweet, potent java. I swear I should have gotten overtime plus extra sick leave after that awful night. Anyway, he’s still just standing there, staring at me like a brainless twit as if I can be intimidated to speed it up. I slow my outflow a notch, down to an excruciatingly slow drip by drip just to piss him off. I bet he wants to give me the finger, but he won’t dare for fear I have a nervous breakdown again. He opens my top and adds more grinds. As if I can make this stuff any stronger? HOW many times have I warned him NOT to interrupt the brewing process?? I finish spewing out the liquid I pray will cause him heart trouble and kill him prematurely. God knows no Frenchman would disrespect me so cavalierly. Why was I cursed with the ownership of this Ugly American? I release another puff of steam right into his face as he squints, trying to program me to automatically produce another shot in promptly 20 minutes. Nice try. For good measure, I spew out an exceptionally weak and watery layer of foam. I almost feel better.

The Eclectic Pen » All Stories by Sabiel C. (sabu423)

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