So every now and then, I’m reminded of how I’m not quite a coffee expert yet.  As you may know, I consider myself well versed with the drug of caffeine, but this vehicle is still somewhat bewildering to me.

We specifically left early for the train today so that I could stop and pick up some coffee at Girabaldi’s (or whatever Italian sounding bakery name you would like to give it).  I managed to successfully order a large coffee and even looked fairly knowledgeable in the way I coyly pulled out two one dollar bills from my wallet. 

It’s one of those let’s-save-money-on-labor-costs-by-making-the-poor-saps-pour-their-own-coffee places, so I took my fancy self over to the coffee station to make my cup o’ joe.  Then the trouble started.  I reached for a cup, but the spinning cup dispenser was wily and the big gulp size managed to evade me.  After outsmarting the cup devil by using two hands, I went to the coffee fountain things.  I asked which had caffeine, and she said the left one.  The 126-point font signs above the coffee led me to believe she wasn’t lying to me.

Still actually hating the taste of coffee, I went for the sugar substitute next.  How much fake sugar do you put in a big coffee? 5? Better make it 8.  Having seen my lovely wife do this a million times, I stack the 8 packs on top of each other and try to open them all at once.  Turns out, my wife has the grip of a lesbian Russian lumberjack and I can only get the corners off half the sugars.  Thinking quickly, I try using my teeth.  That only gives me several bits of paper in my mouth and a delicious sugar-coated beard.  Now that I’ve covered the counter in Equal, paper and my saliva, I give up and add the sugar packets individually.

Pouring in the milk went smoothly.