Coffee Machine Soap Opera

Today would have been my first day off in over a month, and I was going to enjoy it like a king. I was going to sit back with a nice cup of joe, a jelly donut or two, and catch up on the soap operas on channel two. Sounds nice just thinking about it, right? Well instead, I’ve spent the better part of my morning trying to buy a coffee machine only to end up in a pet hospital sitting on the edge of my seat. And no, I don’t have a pet. Let me explain. 

First, I woke up around my usual five in the morning only to remember I didn’t have to be up so early. I did what any normal person would have done and hit the snooze button for another two hours of sleep. I have to wonder if my day would have gone any different if I had gotten up at five, but I digress. I woke up at a crisp seven, feeling refreshed and ready to enjoy my day of doing nothing. I had a taste for that Colombian coffee my sister so kindly gifted me from one of her vacations. 

This is where it all went wrong. 

I don’t know how, but my coffee machine broke. Just quit. No matter what I did–unplugged it and plugged it back in. replaced the coffee filter. set it on another setting. Nothing. I thought about doing it the old-fashioned way with a pot, filter, and a cup, but I know myself better than that; there was no way I wasn’t going to end up with burnt coffee. 

About ten minutes into searching how to fix it online, I decided I would have an easier time just buying a new one. Frustrated but determined to keep this from wasting my day, I hopped in the car and headed to the store. Thankfully there wasn’t too much traffic, and the store wasn’t too crowded. The only problem I had was picking out a machine. On the one hand, I could have just gotten a cheap one, but then, wouldn’t it just break again? But did I really need a fancy machine that could froth my milk? I don’t even take milk in my coffee! You can see my dilemma. After much debate and self-doubt, I finally decided on a low maintenance coffee machine that seemed like it could get the job done. 

Here’s where the next problem came in. 

I get all the way to the register only to realize I don’t have my wallet. I groaned and asked the cashier to hold on to the machine for me and ran to the car. It would only have taken a moment. Not even a minute. Except someone had broken into my car. I say broken in, but I have to admit I forgot to roll up the back window. I always kept it cracked in case I locked my keys in my car—it happened one too many times for me to count—and some idiot took that opportunity to see what they could find. Safe to say, they took my wallet, but along with that my favorite Lionel Richie CD, a pack of Spearmint gum, and my adorable little bobble head puppy that I kept on my dash. Who takes a bobble head? Seriously, those things are like three dollars at the store!

Anyway, so I had to call it in. It was no surprise the cops took their time getting there. They wrote down what was taken, took a few prints and pictures, asked me the usual questions: do you know who would do this? Do you have any enemies? I mean, come on. You make a few enemies as a PI, but I doubt any of mine would be petty enough to break into my car. 

By the time the cops left, I was ready to tear my hair out. All I wanted was a cup of coffee. I remembered my piggy bank for emergencies at home and decided that I was going to buy that coffee machine and enjoy the rest of my day. 

Now, the store wasn’t too far from my house, and by this time, I had already missed a good three fourths of the shows I had intended to watch. I wasn’t about to miss anymore, so I may have been driving a little fast. I may also have blown a stop sign or two, but it was fine. No kids were out on the streets, and there weren’t any other cars coming. Too bad I didn’t notice the cop lying in wait. I was just five minutes away from home, when the flashing lights brightened my rearview. My whole body shut down. You try explaining to a cop how your wallet was stolen and that’s why you couldn’t provide any identification. 

After giving me a ticket and telling me to slow down and pay attention, he let me go. I waited until he pulled away before I hit the gas. I know. It was stupid. But I was angry. All I wanted to do was watch TV and drink coffee. Is that so much for a guy to ask? Apparently so because before I could hit my break, as I rounded the corner to my street, I hit poor little Jackie. 

Jackie was the neighborhood dog. He was a mutt who belonged to an old man who had a hard time taking care of him but loved him too much to get rid of him. So, the neighborhood kind of adopted him as our own. It was hard not to when he was so cute. Not to mention the perfect escape artist. I imagine he was chasing a squirrel or a bird, but either way, there was no denying that my reckless driving caused him pain. My heart sank, my breath left me, and my life flashed before my eyes. I was a horrible person and I deserved everything terrible that could happen to me. I managed to get myself together enough to run out of the car and check on Jackie. He was hurt bad. He didn’t get up when I called him. Only laid there and whined. 

I gently lifted him up, put him in the car, and hit the gas. I know what you’re thinking. That’s how I got into this mess in the first place, but you don’t understand. Jackie’s life was on the line and I’d be damned if I didn’t do everything in my power to help him. I rushed to the best vet in town: Joan’s. When Joan wasn’t running her veterinary practice, she was working in several of the committees she was involved in—two of which she was chair of. Safe to say everyone knew her. Including me. The blood was bad between us though. 

A while back, one of her competitors in the budget committee had hired me to dig up some info on her. That didn’t sit well with her, obviously; she’s always made sure to know how much I was disliked whenever we met. So, when I ran in to her vet with Jackie in my arms, she glared at me and said,

“What did you do?”

In any other situation, I would have felt offended that she assumed I did something, but she was right in this case. This was all my fault, and all I could muster was,

“Please save Jackie.”

She paused long enough to glare one more time before calling her team into action. It was a rush of vet techs, tubes, and shouting, and I couldn’t follow any of it. I sank into a seat in the waiting area, and waited, my nerves fried.

And that's how I killed Jackie. I don’t know how I’m gonna tell the old man. He may just die from the news. Then I’ll have two lives on my shoulders. I run my hands down my face. I’m a horrible person. I–

“Hey, Cole.”

I look up and see Joan holding out a cup of coffee.

“Take it. You look like you could use some.”

“Jackie?” I mutter.

“He’s not in the best condition, but he’ll survive.”

Relief hits me like a downpour. I sink down into my seat, and nearly cry. I hear the sound of one of the TVs being turned on, followed by a familiar voice. It’s one of the soap operas I’d intended to watch. I notice Joan watching the TV closely. She shakes her head and sighs when Kathryn agrees to help Dylan fake his death.

“She’s an idiot,” she says. “That’s only going to come back and bite her.”

I take a hesitant sip of the coffee. It isn’t Columbian, but it isn’t bad. 

“Especially since Dylan is known to double cross,” I add.

Joan looks at me for a moment before nodding. 

“Exactly.”

As terrible as it has been, I guess this isn’t such a bad way to spend my day off.