Coffee, the true fuel.

Coffee. I'm addicted. Here it is, nearly midnight, and I have a fresh cup sitting next to me as I type. Unlike some people, the caffeine doesn't keep me from sleeping. Guess I'm lucky that way. Downside - I have to always to have it. Good thing it's not that expensive, or I 'd have to mug little old ladies or turn tricks to pay for my habit. (That's a lie. I'd never beat up an old lady.) Well, unless I drank only Starbucks. Then I'd have to be a stoplight bum after work.

ME: Five dollars, five dollars man, hook me up!
STRANGER: Why? So you could buy drugs or alcohol?
ME: No, man... Cinnamon Dolce Latte.
STRANGER: (shakes head) Pathetic. Here's four bucks. Get two real coffees. Tim's is around the corner.

Let me describe my daily coffee routine. Some of you may recognize it.

1. Wake up. Stagger to the coffee maker. Pour a cup and down half in one swallow.
2.Go to the bathroom. Come out and finish the cup. Pour another, smoke a cigarette, and finish it before I head into the shower.
3. Pour a travel mug and jump into traffic so I have enough time to get a cup on my way to work.
4. For lunch, a sandwich and you guessed it - coffee.
5. Call home on my way from work so that there's a fresh pot on when I get there.
6. Final pot of the night. Decaf? Fuck that. It's a wonder at this point that my heart doesn't burst from all the caffeine. (Oddly enough, my blood pressure and pulse are always normal. 170/110 and 340 beats. What? That's not normal?)
And there's this image I have in my head about coffee - when I picture it, it's in a cup - heavy, solid, almost bulletproof. In a diner that smells like bacon and hashbrowns, where old men sit with hats on and read the paper. And it costs about fifty cents. Good stuff. Somewhere along the line the granola munchers got it and turned it into this -


That's right. Foo-Foo coffee. Half caf (What the fuck? Half caffeine? Why? What's the fucking point?) soy latte with no foam. Okay, first - NOTHING soy should be anywhere near coffee. You want something that tastes like soy? Lick a diaper. Close enough. Foam? It's a LATTE. It's supposed to have foam.

These "Coffee Shops" are supposed to be cool. The service for the most part sucks - half the time I get the wrong coffee. I ask for a bold. They look at me as if I farted. "You want anything in it? Vanilla syrup?" I say no. Must've farted again. Then they give me a mild. No flavor. Shit. And God help you if you ask for a large. These half a dolts can't figure out what it is in Barrista-ese.

The customers are usually young, or pretending to be. Lots of laptops - everyone's a writer, even in Winnipeg. Of course, if you come in dressed in work attire (translated - orange overalls, a safety thing,) they look at you as if you have a booger on your nose. Never mind that half of them couldn't manage a thought that didn't require spelling with letters AND numbers. Gr8. Like this kid I saw yesterday... help me out here, would you?

(mild examples.)

I guess he was what they call an Emo - like a Goth lite. He wore Converse low tops, black capri pants (I shit you not) black shirt with fishnet sleeves, Alice Cooper style eye makeup, earrings (the body mod type) and carried a black and white checked purse. Far cry from the old man reading a paper, huh?

I had the privilege of standing behind him. He stepped up to the counter and placed his order - half caf soy chai latte, no foam. CHAI? That's fucking TEA! You ordered a diluted TEA??? And he paid five bucks and change for it. I ordered a black COFFEE. BOLD. When we both stepped away from the counter, guess who got the booger look.

Not the Emo.