Coffee in America

Coffee is getting to be annoying.

Back when men were men, folks drank coffee labeled “Folgers” and “Maxwell House.”

That was it.

No Starbucks.

No local variety.

Don’t tell me the Guatemalans or the Columbians had a problem with it, because they’re still here. They didn’t give a crap if Americans drank the crops they worked so hard and sacrificed so much to yield.

Before I go further, I should share a realization upon which I came 10 seconds ago: I prefer Tim Hortons coffee to everything.


Folgers and Maxwell House aren’t the best, in my opinion.

ANYWAY, THAT WON’T STOP ME from making 63 percent of my Facebook friends mad at me for chastising the “coffee culture.” Tim Hortons is awesome and regular. Shit harvested by a father of 8 earning $50 per day just so it can be sent to some snobby “café” in California that pretends to give a crap about poor persons just because it will bring in more customers who pretend to give a crap about poor persons isn’t awesome. The product is awesome, but buying it pretty much anywhere in the U.S. is not.

Listen. I appreciate a good cup of coffee as much as anyone. I drink it all day, every day.

But we’ve got to stop with this “slow down and drink a cup of coffee” bullshit. Anyone who’s somewhat typical will tell you he or she does not have the time for that kind of nonsense. If they’re drinking coffee, the goal is to speed up or warm up or get jacked up. I can count the number of friends I’ve made over a cup of coffee: zero.

THERE’S ALSO THIS INCORRECT NOTION something’s wrong with our culture that we don’t take the time to sit and talk with our neighbors over a cup of coffee. News flash: they don’t do that shit in Europe, which is where all of this artsy-fartsy crap allegedly happens. When I visited Italy, the coffee shops were basically pit stops for the employed. People would walk in, order and slap a couple coins down on the bar. The barista would fill a ceramic shot glass with espresso, slide it over, the patron would slam it and walk out.

Boom. End of story. No chit-chat, like on the commercials depicting quaint little Italy where everyone wakes up to wildflowers and olive oil.

If you live in an upscale city in the U.S. and want to meet your neighbor, go to some frilly coffee shop in any upscale city the U.S. There, you can talk about private schools, SUVs, Guatemalan coffees and how badly you wish everyone did what you are doing at that moment – sitting down at a coffee shop at 10 a.m. on a Wednesday drinking coffee.

But if you want to live your life hand-in-hand with America, stop by a gas station, fill a 20-ounce Styrofoam cup with Folgers brewed an hour ago and burned from sitting in a half-filled pot, and simply nod to the guy next to you in line at the cash register. He’ll know exactly what you mean.

That is coffee in America.

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