Morning Coffee

By Fallton Havenstonne

It was a Monday in November, and Martin was dressed in a gray business suit, being the professional that he was. He put his cellphone in his pocket, and wore on a shiny wristwatch—one that cost him two months of his salary. Ever since he bought it, he wore it religiously, and hardly ever checked the time on his cellphone now that he had it.

As he multitasked that morning, he paced to the coffee machine, eager to put a coffee pod in it when he noticed that there were no coffee pods left. He let out a long groan, knowing that this would throw a wrench in his morning commute. Now he’d have to make a trip to the convenience store, which would almost guarantee that he’d be late for work. He almost always made it on time, but not today he wouldn’t. Now he’d have to explain to his boss, Curtis, why he was late, and Curtis had a “three strikes and you’re out” policy about coming to work late. And Martin was on his third strike.

Martin saw some good people leave because of this rule—even if they had a good excuse. In fact, Heather was the last one to go, and she lost her job because of a flat tire, which took her an hour to fix on a cold day in October. She missed an important meeting that day, one that was attached to a considerably large sum. But what could she do about the flat tire? She came in to the office after the meeting was over, and Curtis told her to pack up her things and leave. She found a better job anyway working from home, making 20% more . . .

Martin grabbed his briefcase from the table, and left his condo hurriedly. He lived on the tenth floor, and it took the elevator roughly 1 minute to make its way down to the parking garage. He timed everything as he drove, adding up all the minutes from start to finish. He approximated that after he paid and left the convenience store, it’d take him another 10 minutes to get to work, and he’d only be late by 5 or 10 minutes.

But 5 or 10 minutes was like an hour to Curtis, who’d be on Martin’s case like a hawk—watching to see when he’d be late again.

Should I just skip getting coffee? Martin thought. No. That was unthinkable to him. He’d be grumpy the rest of the morning—wouldn’t be 100% himself. He’d beat himself up if he did that, but then again, what was worse: Curtis’ third strike, or not having coffee for the morning? The latter, he thought.

He made it to the convenience store with time to spare. In fact, he realized that he’d actually get to work on time thanks to the 4 consecutive green lights that allowed him to zip through the intersections without stopping. The door chimed when he went inside, and with a tunnel vision like focus, he made his way down the narrow aisle toward the coffee station. As soon as he got there, his jaw dropped when he saw the sign that read: Out of Coffee.

Martin thought that the sign had been a mistake, but when he checked with the cashier, he was told that they ran out of coffee two days ago. The next delivery should come later that morning if he wanted to wait for it. Martin had no time though. He needed coffee now—needed to get his coffee fix. Biting his lip, Martin thanked the cashier and ran outside to his car.

If Curtis wasn’t so adamantly opposed to having a coffee machine in the office, Martin wouldn’t have to run around like mad for a cup of coffee. Curtis told the employees that he couldn’t stand the smell of roasted coffee—said that it bothered his sinuses. Curtis allowed people to bring their own coffee cups, but they just couldn’t brew coffee there.

At this point, Martin would have to go straight to work if he didn’t want to be late. In his mind, however, he justified making just one more trip to get some coffee. The gas station was about a block away, and it wouldn’t take him long to fill up a cup and pour some creamer inside and pay for it and go. He’d be out of there in less than a minute—according to his calculations.

When Martin parked at the gas station, he raced inside and made a sharp turn toward the coffee station. No Coffee. Sorry, the sign read. Martin couldn’t believe his eyes. Was this a dream—a nightmare? How could two stores be out of coffee on the same day? It was like the world was conspiring against him—watching him from hidden cameras for laughs. Without bothering to ask the cashier why, Martin stormed out of the place and jumped into his car.

He was going to try one last time to get a cup of coffee. His eyes nearly bulged out of his eyes when he saw the time on his watch: 7:58 AM. He had to be at work in two minutes, but it’d take him 10 minutes to get there. This will be the last time I’ll ever be late, he thought. And to justify it, he’d buy a 1,000 coffee pods after work so that he’d never run out again.

For his third attempt, he’d make a stop at the coffee shop. He didn’t want to though, since this shop was notorious for having long lines. He went anyways, and walked in briskly, shaking his head once he saw the long line. He waited in line for 10 minutes, thinking to himself that he’d probably be fired by the time he got to the office. And by the time he ordered, 9 people were ahead of him—some of whom were waiting on two or three drinks that had to be made to their desired specifications.

Martin debated whether he should call the office and tell Curtis a story . . . a lie. No, he couldn’t do that. Curtis was the type of person that would get to the bottom of it, and if he found out that he was lying, well, there goes his job and reputation. He didn’t want that on his conscience. He’d rather tell Curtis that he was late because . . . no. He couldn’t tell him the truth. He’d just say he was sorry and that it wouldn’t happen again.

But like a nightmare that keeps getting worse, Martin heard the store manager announce: “Sorry folks, but we’re all out of coffee. We’ll refund your order if you didn’t get yours. We have tea and pastries if you still want to . . .”

Everyone let out a sigh of disappointment. Martin just stared at the manager in disbelief, couldn’t believe his luck. He’d be late to work for nothing. For nothing!

With a languished spirit, Martin made his way back to work. “Three strikes and you’re out,” he imagined Curtis saying to him. “Pack up your stuff and leave.” His $75,000 job would go out the window. And he’d be unemployed, back on the job hunt . . .

Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was 8:22 AM. He started griping to himself about everything: the cold weather, the convenience store, the gas station, the coffee shop, the coffee pods, the traffic, the car, his job. Negativity filled his thoughts, making him question his need for coffee. Why couldn’t he forgo it? What made him believe that it was more important than his job?

Or maybe this was a sign that he needed to get a new one. Find a company that allowed him to work from home, or one that was flexible with his schedule. Besides, if Curtis would be on his case about this, it was only a matter of time until he’d quit because of the stress and anxiety of having to come on time—regardless if he had a reason to be late—even if it was a good one. To him, coffee was as good a reason as any, but it certainly wouldn’t carry any weight to Curtis.

By the time Martin made it to work, there were only a handful of cars in the parking lot. He knew that there should be more, but with no time to think, he walked speedily into the building. As he waited for the elevator to open up to the 4th floor, he imagined Curtis waiting by his cubicle—waiting to give him an earful about his lateness before he fired him.

Nervous sweat drenched Martin’s’ hands. He felt like he was under the weather, and maybe he should tell Curtis that he was sick. But when he got there, Curtis wasn’t anywhere in sight. In fact, nobody was. The office was completely empty. It was as if Martin had showed up on the wrong day. Had he? No, he couldn’t have. He checked his watch, and saw that it was 8:35 AM on a Monday. Surely, he couldn’t have been mistaken about that—unless this was a dream . . .

He sat in his cubicle, debating whether if he should go home or not. Besides, no one was there, and he hadn’t gotten his coffee yet. Should he go to the grocery store and pick up some coffee pods? They surely wouldn’t be out of coffee. If they were out, then what was the world coming to?

After swiveling in the chair for about five minutes, he decided to go home and stop at the grocery store. If they were out of coffee pods, he didn’t know what he’d do. Maybe he’d make the switch to instant coffee. But what if they were out of that? How could the supply chain be this broken when coffee was necessary to the running of society? he wondered.

He pressed the button on the elevator, waiting patiently—and with relief—that he wasn’t late today. He had all morning now to find a cup of coffee to get his fix. The elevator dinged, and Martin’s chest nearly jumped out of his chest when he saw Curtis stepping out of the elevator.

Curtis smiled in surprise—a smile that went from ear to ear.

“Martin! So glad that you showed up early today,” Curtis said.

“Early, sir?” Martin said with a flabbergasted expression on his face. He checked his watch, just to verify the time. “But it’s 8:41.”

“No, no,” Curtis said dryly. “It’s 7:41.”

“7:41?”

“Yesterday was daylight savings time. Spring forward, fall back. Haven’t you heard?”

Martin’s face turned red with anger. He hadn’t changed the time on his watch—the one that cost him two months of his salary. He drew out his cellphone from his pocket, and indeed, it was 7:41 AM.

Curtis patted Martin on the shoulder. “Well, it’s great to see you bright and early. Let’s head in to the office. I have a feeling that today’s going to be one of the busiest days this month . . .”

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