Waiting For The Office Keurig To Warm Up Is A Terrifying Experience
The motion sensored lights in the kitchen flicker on as I walk in, the stench of last nights five Miller Lights still on my person. I check the fridge like it’s my own, knowing damn well that I have nothing in there with my name on it. Right now I’m in survival mode.
I’m desperate for something, anything to fill the void in my stomach but alas there is nothing save for a half eaten box of pizza from two weeks ago that the office manager refuses to throw out.
I think about ordering Jimmy Johns, but they aren’t open for another four hours so I decide the best course of action is to completely destroy my stomach by drinking three or four cups of incredibly mediocre Keurig coffee.
I arrive somewhere in between the early bird, brown nose suck up in the office and the girl who always shows up a half hour late, and to my dismay the Keurig is devoid of water. Absolutely bone-dry.
Someone has left their personal reusable pod in the apparatus, and I take it out and throw it onto the counter in disgust. The whole point of the Keurig is no mess or clean up - if you’re going to use a reusable pod you might as well just stick with the old-school coffee maker. In the cupboard I reach for a Green Mountain breakfast blend pod - it’s no Cafe Bustelo but it’s free and I am in no position to complain.
I get a styrofoam cup from the other side of the kitchen and fill the Keurig machine up to the “max fill” sign. Unlike some inconsiderate fucks that I personally know, I’m a man of the people. I’m not going to torture someone else by only filling up the machine with enough water for one cup.
I stand there, hands on my hips like a disgruntled soccer mom in the return line at Target and push the “on” button. Now we wait. Rumbling, clicking, guttural noises are emitted from the Keurig as it springs to life. It only takes about three or four minutes for the thing to warm up, but those three or four minutes might as well be an hour for a hungover cube jockey that absolutely loathes small talk with coworkers.
Whenever I have to wait for the Keurig to warm up it seems like I’m hungover, and the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen can only mean one thing -
Whoa, looks like someone had themselves a good Thursday night!
Hey, that cup for me? Haha just kidding!
Plans for the weekend? What’s the status on those deliverables we talked about in the meeting on Wednesday?
I compare the wait time for the warming of the Keurig to the feeling that one gets when they’re on a roller coaster going up that first hill. The click-click-click of the ride on the incline, the nervous butterflies in your stomach just waiting for the drop.
I don’t love heights so maybe that’s not relatable but you get the idea. You’re just waiting for the guillotine to come down on your head, or in this case for an obnoxious coworker to sidle up behind you and make your morning ten times worse than it already is.
And yeah having a short conversation with a coworker isn’t the worst thing in the world but when you have to do it a few times a week year in and year out it wears on you. It’s tortorous watching that red light, the minutes ticking by like mollasses as you wait for the light to turn green. “C’mon, c’mon. Let’s get in and out of here as quickly as possible,” I think to myself.
I’m a below average small talker. I fiddle with my hands, look people in the eye for too long, and I’ve been told I come off as aloof when the topic turns to something banal.
All I ask is that if you happen to find yourself in the unfortunate position of staring down an empty Keurig, just fill the sucker up to “max fill” so the poor bastard that comes in after you doesn’t have to do it. Being considerate so as to avoid human interaction is what office life is all about.