At war with the little things

On my way to visit my sister this weekend, I stopped at a Dunkin Donuts, as I do, to get an iced coffee. (Yes, yes. It’s cold out. I like iced coffee. Sue me.)

I was irritated, because I hadn’t gotten much sleep and really needed coffee and the woman behind the counter was more interested in finding out how many different ways she could express to her coworker, using only four words and a limited number of inflections, her disbelief in various things the coworker had done — “No, you di’n’t! You did NOT! NO! NO! You di’n’t NO. NO!” — than she was in getting me my coffee. And then, when I took a sip of my coffee, which I di’n’t do til I got back to my car, way out in the lot, I discovered that it was hazelnut.

I’ve been having a rough couple of days. I’ve been busy, and stressed out, and I’ve started doing stupid little busy-stressed-exhausted things like misplacing my keys and my eyeglasses and dropping everything I pick up and snapping over little stuff. It doesn’t take much to push me over the edge, at the moment. A little thing, like, say, getting hazelnut, which I hate, instead of regular coffee, which as necessary as oxygen and all a person really needs to be happy, could tip me right over the lip into cuckooland.

“Goddammit,” I said to my invisible audience in the parking lot. “I HATE HAZELNUT.” And then I paused for a minute. And took another sip.

It was actually kind of good.

“My mistake,” I told my make-believe minions. “This is actually kind of good.”

They rolled their eyes at me as I got in my car and drove away.

So let me ask you this: Which is a bigger sign of my incipient insanity? Talking to people who aren’t there, or discovering that I like a type of coffee I’ve always hated? I’m just not sure.

Published by Jen Hubley Luckwaldt

I'm a freelance writer and editor.

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