Thursday, September 17, 2009

Mr. Coffee

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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