You should have seen Shawn's face. It was like he couldn't breathe. The minute we walked in to the Cave Creek strip mall coffee machine repair shop, I knew we were in trouble. The place was like a Mr. Coffee morgue. Rows and rows of machines with yellow tags tied on to the plugs, just like on Law & Order, except these babies were high end, shiny beasts with clogged grinders, worn out o-rings, and tired frothers. I wasn't surprised when the guy said that it would be at least a week. It would probably take that long for him just to find it in his way too crowded, Rush Limbaugh-blaring, the only place in town that will touch these things shop. But poor Shawn. The guy's addicted. He spends every morning with her - at least fifteen minutes grinding, pouring, heating, frothing, spinning the four shot, caramel, milky looking latte in his over-sized mug. Nobody can even talk to him until he's had his way with her and the caffeine has kicked in. So, I guess it must have been heartbreaking for him to hear the totally improbable "about a week" line from Mr. Fix-it. But as we were leaving, I reminded him of the old machine he keeps at the office for emergency afternoon espressos. Maybe we could go get that? The guy looked at me like I'm a genius and finally took a big breath.
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