There’s a certain place in hell for you

Hell seems relatively benign, you think to yourself. There’s no scary demons with pitchforks poking you in the butt or unholy monstrosities feeding you your own butthole. No, it’s just a rather innocuous looking office break room. There’s comfortable looking chairs, a TV, and even fun co-workers to whittle away eternity with. Even better, there’s catered food everyday for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You managed to find that little slice of heaven in hell you lucky bastard.

But wait, what’s that pain in your forehead? Every few seconds you get a jolt in your brain that tells you you missed your morning cup of coffee. But how is that possible? You always have it first thing in the morning. Now you remember. It was empty when you tried to pump out some coffee so you decided to wait until some other poor sap had to make a fresh pot. No one else was around to pressure you into making it so you just strolled away carefree and resolved to return in 15 minutes to get your fill. Looks like you forgot to do that and now you’re paying the price. Oh well, there’s surely coffee available now. Finish up your lunch and get your afternoon cup on.

Uh oh. Everyone else had the same idea and now you’re in a stupid line. It’s okay though because there’s only two more in front of you. Once the two of them are done, you’ll have your sweet caffeine fix. Great. The first person just filled it to the top and they are on their merry way. That last pump of coffee was a little loud so it may be running low, but hopefully you’ll be able to get some without having to make it. The guy in front of you starts to pump coffee and manages to fill his mug halfway before nothing but air exists the carafe.

“Sorry, I’m already late for a meeting. Can you make the next pot?” the guy says to you. There’s a long line of people staring daggers at you so you succumb to the pressure and reassure him that you will. He gives you a hearty pat on the back and disappears down the corridor.

This is only your second time making coffee and the caffeine headache is starting to wear on you. It doesn’t help that everyone else in line is expecting a speedy performance. You never performed well under pressure. After struggling to attach the filter to the basket and spilling a teaspoon of coffee grounds on the fake marble counter, you manage to get the machine brewing. 5 minutes to go until you can get a fresh cup. You’re first in line and nothing can get in the way of you curing this coffee hangover.

Nothing except your Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Just as the time hits 1 minute, you feel an undeniable urge to shit your britches. There’s no way you can wait for 1 minute to fill up your mug so you run off to the bathroom. The first bathroom is small and both stalls are already occupied so you run across the atrium to the other bathroom. Those are occupied, too. You can feel the levees start to break. If you can’t find a stall in the next 30 seconds, you will poop your pants. You frantically run up the stairs to the bathroom on the top floor, but it’s closed for cleaning. Utterly defeated, you surrender and let out a steamy dump in your pants.

Your headache is worse than ever and shit is dripping down your legs. You can never leave this place to take a shower and you didn’t bring an extra pair of pants. At least there will still be coffee. You carefully head back to the break room, making sure to avoid the noses of any co-workers. What luck! The break room is empty and the coffee carafe is all to yourself. You walk your shit covered ass over to the carafe and prepare yourself for your hard earned cup of coffee. You pump and nothing comes out. You pump again. Still nothing. You pump three times. Still nothing. Seemingly out of nowhere, a giant line of twenty-something business professionals has gathered behind you. Each member of the line is holding a coffee mug and asking “what’s that smell.” They tell you to make another pot. You comply. You’re first in line and you’re guaranteed a cup of coffee this time. There’s no way you have any more poop left in your body. It currently resides between your calves and your waistband.

Oh how wrong you were. The gurgling in your stomach comes back. But you don’t care anymore. You already shit your pants once. You co-workers already know you’re the source of the smell. You let go right in the break room in front of all your peers. At that time, the coffee machine beeps to let you know it’s ready. With a smile on your face and a song in your heart, you place the carafe back on its stand and fill up your mug to the brim with the best damn cup of coffee you’re ever going to enjoy.

Then you see the empty package that held the grounds you used to make the coffee. It says “Decaf” on it. That’s not going to help your caffeine withdrawal at all. What’s more, that was the last bag of coffee in the drawer. You overhear someone say that they won’t have more coffee bags until the morning.

You wake up late the next morning feeling relatively refreshed. You must have changed your pants at some point last night and taken a shower. Nonetheless, you resolve to make the best out of your situation. Coffee can’t dictate your happiness. But wait, what’s that pain in your forehead? It’s exponentially worse than yesterday’s throbbing migraine. Which, come to think about it was worse than the migraine you had two days prior. And that one was far worse than the one you had three days prior. How long have you been in this place? How many times have you shit your pants in front of your colleagues? Why didn’t you just make the coffee when it was your turn while you were still alive and had the chance to avoid this fate?

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s