After I wrote “coffee break” yesterday I had an in-person, non-social media conversation with a friend about great coffee spills of all time. I led off with the morgue of ruined white dress shirts and gravitated to those accidents that turned a routine day upside down. There is a theme to a majority of these accidents: it’s the A.M., I’m late for work, distracted and I must have one more cup before I hit the road. Here is the king of spills:
I was on time, suited up, confident and holding a cup of hot coffee as I squeezed into a pickup truck—no gun rack, no spill. I put the cup in the drink holder, started the engine and turned on the radio to catch the news ‘o day. About 50 feet later at 20 mph I reached for the coffee. Looking good. With the cup nearing my mouth, I need to emphasize that I am in a truck with a shock absorption system that needs work. I hit the mother of all potholes and for the first and only time in my life, I truly wear coffee: my shirt, my suit pants, my face, my hair, etc. This cosmic spill was so bad I laughed as I returned home to start the day over.