On a recent “getaway” I checked myself in to a inexpensive hotel. Okay, it was a cheap motel. But I was not interested in fancy accoutrements, simply getting away and resting. Personally, I don’t need much to do either. I don’t need a lot of entertaining to relax.
I will put up with a lot of inconvenience, but there is one thing I simply must have if I am going to stay in a motel. It must serve good, morning coffee. And when I say “good coffee,” I’m referring to good old American coffee.
I think somewhere in the Bill of Rights this is one of our guarantees as Americans. This is one reason why I pay my taxes on time.
Before registering, I ask the man behind the counter about the morning coffee.
“I make it myself,” he said with a huge, toothy smile.
I nodded and smiled back at him.
“Best coffee in whole town,” he boasted. Then he added, “I got recipe from grandmother in Timbuktu.”
That settled it for me. What grandmother cannot make a good cup of coffee? I luxuriated in the prospects of such good coffee every morning.
I love it when a vacation plan comes together. Imagine, getting up in the morning with no plans whatsoever and tarrying over a hot cup of Joe. It doesn’t get any better than that.
At the time one little piece of information sailed over my head. I heard him say his grandmother was from India, but it never registered in my mind. Of course, something has to be really important to register in my mind. I’m saving my mind for really important stuff.
I went to sleep that night softly singing to myself, “I’m going to have a nice cup of Joe in the morning.”
With a great deal of anticipation, I arose before lunch the next day with thoughts of coffee beans dancing in my head. I quickly dressed and walked down to the front desk to get my morning “wakeup cup” a good coffee.
When I got there I poured myself a generous mug of this rich black liquid while the owner beamed in my direction. I threw a gargantuan smile back at him. After all, a good day starts with a good cup of coffee.
Whistling all the way back to my room I anticipated a relaxing morning over a hot cup of coffee. I can always tell how my day is going to be by the quality of my morning coffee.
I took one generous swallow of “grandmother’s” coffee and immediately gagged. It was the most awful gulp I had ever ingested. It burned going down as well as coming back up, which it did several times.
One thought raced through my startled mind: by mistake, I must have gotten a cup of used motor oil from last year.
I threw it out, cup and all, and went back to the front office in a frightful state of mind.
“I got the wrong stuff,” I explained through clenched teeth.
“No worry,” he said with a little embarrassment, “I make more.”
I did not mind waiting until he made a fresh pot. After all, waiting is a small price to pay for a good cup of coffee, and my morning was not off to a good start.
I did not think anything could be worse than that first cup of coffee. I have been wrong before … many times before. And I was wrong again. This time it tasted like he had grounded old tires and put them in the coffee pot, along with three dead Pun Alley cats.
This definitely was not American coffee. If I live in America, and pay taxes to the American government and complain about American politics I have a right to good American coffee, not some concoction from a recipe in India.
I have all the respect in the world for people from foreign lands. It does not make any difference to me. Everybody is from somewhere. However, don’t mess with my morning coffee.
If I check into a motel and pay with American money I expect good old-fashioned American coffee in the morning. I guess I am a traditionalist when it comes to things like this. I definitely am not a social progressive in this area of life.
I do not mind improvements in other areas like clothing and automobiles and computers. These things and a lot more needed improving. And even when they come out with “new and improved” products, which are neither, I don’t mind.
But my morning coffee should be off-limits to any “fooling around with” by people who do not know what they are doing.
When God created morning coffee He pronounced it perfect. Woe be to the person who thinks he can improve on God’s creations.
I gave up on the coffee down at the motel office, walked across the street to a restaurant and bought my morning coffee. While walking back to my room I was reminded of a wonderful verse of Scripture.
“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.” (James 1:17 KJV.)
When God does something, no man can improve on it. Messing with my morning coffee comes perilously close to messing with God.
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