Before I get started, can I just say – to everyone who read my last post and smiled politely as I used the phrase “this here blog-a-majigger” in the first sentence and then still actually read the rest of the post, thank you. That’s what happens when I don’t have enough time to think seriously about what I’m saying before hitting “publish.” I am not actually a stubborn old man learning about the internet for the first time, as that might have caused you to believe.
Now on to more serious topics. Or as serious as it can get around here, anyway.
I have to say that no one got a whole lot of work done today. Most people were at least listening to the live CNN news feed of the manhunt in Boston while doing other things. Multi-tasking: It’s not just for two-headed people anymore. [Note to self: You better take that out before you let this go live. That doesn’t make any sense, and it isn’t very funny.]
At the same time, my boss got Starbucks for us because it was Friday, and because there was some pumpkin cake that needed some coffee to go with it. And as we sat talking about work or about the manhunt or about children’s sports teams, there was my tall latte, looking like a warrior.
Maybe this will clear things up. Ladies and gentleman, I present the very first (and probably the last) real picture ever on this blog:
As you can see, my valiant cup of lukewarm coffee is ready to charge into battle with its green stopper sword in hand. Get it? See how the stopper looks like a sword?
When I got back to my desk, it wobbled in my hand and almost spilled. I gripped it tighter and sat down. But we weren’t done.
“Let me go.”
“Are you talking to me?” (If you remember from the conversation I had with my couch, inanimate objects speaking to me doesn’t freak me out that much.)
“Yes, I’m talking to you. Let me go.”
“Um, no? You’re my coffee. You’re not going anywhere. I’m going to drink you.”
“Please don’t. Look—I have a sword and everything. Let me go to Boston.”
“What are you going to do in Boston?”
“Help, obviously. Help them catch that guy.”
“Help them how? You’re a cup of coffee. That’s what you are.”
“What, just because I’m short, you don’t think I can help?”
“It’s more because you’re a cup of coffee. I have to carry you everywhere. And besides, you’re a tall latte. Not a short latte.”
“Oh, ha, ha. A joke about how Starbucks names their drinks? What is this, 1998?”
“Come on, I never get to work that into a conversation.”
“You are wasting time. I could be really helping out there!”
“Okay, what’s your plan exactly? Are you going to stab him in the foot with your tiny sword? That would slow him down for about two seconds.”
“Two seconds is two seconds.”
“True…” I thought about that. I took a sip of coffee. “Ow!” I said.
“Hurts, don’t it?”
“Did you just stab me in the neck?”
“Let me go.”
“I guess it’s not bleeding. Ouch, though. You’re one of those jerk lattes, aren’t you?”
“Just let me go already! I’m trying to help! What are you doing? Sitting and listening to the news? Ooh, good for you. Way to go. Acting all involved when you can’t do a thing. I can help them, so stop drinking me and let me go!”
“Geez, alright already.”
So I left him in a public place so he could sneak out of the building quietly, and he was gone when I came back. Someone might have thrown him away, but probably not. So if anybody sees a tall latte running around Boston looking for a killer, you’ll know where it came from.
And hey, maybe you can use him as bait. You know, lure the bomber out with free coffee. That’s a pretty good idea. In any case, just humor him a little, will you? He really wants to help.
P.S. – Seriously, Boston, we all want to help. If we could do more than sit and watch the news, you know we would.
Edit: Hey, look, they got him! Pretty sure my latte had nothing to do with it. It’s the thought that counts, I guess.