When I realized at twenty years old that I wasn’t “very good at waking up,” my Mom shelled out a few bucks for me to get you. You were so young, innocent, and loyal, and you worked like a charm (the “working” type of charm).
You sat on my little dorm room refrigerator, which had been converted to a beer cooler/bedside table. Every morning at 6:30 you would “perk” up. You would still be there, waiting patiently for me after I hit snooze for the seventh time on the dog alarm clock (which was really a cat alarm clock… some of you know the one – broken trumpet in one hand, blasted Reveille and “WAKE UP!!!!!! Rrrrriiiiisssse and sshhhiiine!!!”). When I cursed after spilling hot coffee all over myself and bedsheets as I tried to pour a cup of coffee while still asleep, you didn’t laugh. No, no, you just sat there, and made sure that the next cup I spilled would scald my fair skin even worse than the last one.
When I moved into a place by myself for the first time, you got one hell of a workout. You never complained when I abused you… running multiple pots on a late night of drill writing, then waking me up when I had to be at the trucks at 3:30 in the morning for yet another loss to Tennessee.
You were never stylish or fancy. You offered no frothy milk crap concoction to put on top of a cup of pure caffeine. You just spit out wake juice, over, and over, and over again. You cured multiple hangovers, got me through comps. You even cooperated on that New Year’s eve when Russ, Ellen, and I decided that we would try being Irish.
That worked out.
When I moved to Music City, you pledged to continue feeding the caffeine addiction which I share with my fellow musicians. You did so nobly, and with never a vile word.
And now, you have gone to be with Mr. Coffee himself. As I drop by the new Target tonight on my way home, and I toss you into the dumpster some twenty feet in front of my apartment door, a little part of me will be gone… nay, a large part.
You were the truest friend.
You were (sniff) the greatest enabler.
You were the one thing I could count on (except for my cable modem…. wait).
May you rest in pieces.
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9 comments:
Seriously, that almost upset me. Dude that was some heartfelt stuff. It's almost like it was your "Wilson" and you were the Castaway.
*Sniff*
P.S.--Why am I Kip Pantries?
Well, I took your first name, "Kip," and I changed your real last name into something related to "Kitchens"... in this case, "Pantries." Kip Pantries. That makes sense, doesn't it?
I feel bad for the coffee pot. Did you cry as you threw it away?
No, actually I was talking to your husband on the phone. Also congratulations. Will you buy me something?
So ... is there a new coffee maker in the hizzy? If you need any coffee maker shopping tips, let me know. I wrote an article about thermal coffee makers a few years ago.
Also, there's a MOUNTAIN of great info here.
I apologize. I take coffee r-r-r-r-r-r-EALLY seriously.
Sad! Sorry for your loss.
god damn I hated that alarm clock......
You should publish your poem...many a people with the addiction to the bean would appreciate it. Hope things are well (we're only 4 hours away from each other!).
-Traci
Kip....
Yeah I ain't commenting on that.
But I will say for some reason, every time I see "Kip Pantries" I think of Chris Kattan. I wonder why that is.
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