Column: Constantly consumed by the need to consume a cuppa

I had missed the Dunkin’ Donuts run and was sad. I’m a school library supervisor, and my office is in our district’s 7-12 school. The special education department there offers a much-appreciated fundraiser. A teacher and a student take orders for morning refreshments, fetch them and then deliver them. I take advantage of this service whenever I’m at the school. It’s a win/win: I get caffeine, the students get business experience and earn money for their classroom treasury.

On this day, the Dunkin’s team had come through early, I guess. I told myself to buck up. I would survive. Then a colleague came into the office and said, “Sue (the teacher) said she knows what you order, and was going to get it for you.”

Oh, happy day!

I set to work with the knowledge my java was on the way. Soon, Sue and her student arrived with their cart laden with Dunkin’ goodies. Sue looked glum. “I don’t have your coffee,” she said.

I thought she was teasing me. “Oh, I know you got it for me.” I took my wallet out to pay the student.

“No,” she said, “I got Louise’s coffee.” Louise subs for us, but she wasn’t there that day. There had been a miscommunication somewhere down the line.

“That’s OK, I’ll drink Louise’s coffee.” I like a medium iced caramel-mocha, but caffeine is caffeine. Louise’s medium hot with cream and two sugars would do just fine.

Sue offered to go back out and get me my usual, but I assured her it would be fine. So she gave me the coffee for free. I still gave the student a tip.

The next day, my husband, Paul, drove me to work. I asked him to stop by Dunkin’s, as I hadn’t had my iced coffee the day before. We arrived at the elementary school where I was working that day without incident. I got out of the car and put the iced coffee on the roof because I needed to take my big rolling backpack out of the hatchback. I put the case on the ground and shut the hatch. Before I could reach for the coffee, Paul sped off.

I watched in horror as the the plastic cup rose from the roof of the car, as if in slow motion. “Paul,” I screamed. “Stop!” The container arced into the air and then hit the ground with a crack and a splatter.

Paul had stopped, but seeing that the only fatality was my iced coffee, he drove on.

I picked up the cup and threw it away. Now I was seriously annoyed. No caffeine. No way to get caffeine. Once I set up my laptop in the library, I got out my bottle of water. I scowled at it.

An hour passed as I answered e-mail and dealt with other matters. I decided to send Paul a message, since he had to deliver an item to me later in the morning. “If you are so inclined, I would like a medium iced coffee, caramel-mocha flavored. Thank you.”

I continued working until my phone beeped. Paul was on his way with my delivery. Would it include a coffee?

I flew downstairs and met Paul in the driveway. He handed me a bag with the requested item and--yes!--a medium iced coffee! I thanked him profusely and got back to the library.

I resumed cataloging books and reached for my beverage. It was good...but it wasn’t caramel-mocha. I stirred it with my straw to see if the syrup had sunk to the bottom. Nope. This was a plain iced coffee with cream.

I couldn’t catch a break!

Nevertheless, I did have my coffee. I would not sulk.

Soon I received an e-mail from Paul. “I didn’t see your e-mail (requesting coffee) before I left the house,” he wrote. “I wondered why you weren’t more surprised.”

Awww, he’d gotten me a replacement coffee on his own. I wrote back: “I was wondering why it wasn’t caramel-mocha.” But knowing Paul didn’t need to be told was sweetness itself. Really.

The following week, I decided to avoid more coffee adventures by bringing my own. One day, however, I arrived at work and noticed I’d had a little coffee spillage in my bag. The damage was minor--just a couple of papers had gotten splashed. I thought I had double-checked the cap on the thermos, but perhaps I hadn’t.

Later in the morning, Paul sent an e-mail. “I don’t know if you have your thermos with you, but you left part of it in the dish rack.

That would be the inner screw that keeps the stopper tight. Mystery solved.

I guess if I’m going to be a coffee hound, I have to accept that where coffee goes, trouble is sure to follow.