We can’t make the coffee pot work.
I punch buttons randomly. Rick looks on helpfully. It’s a fancy pants thing with lots of buttons and timers and a possible nuclear launch sequence. Beats me.
“You’ll get it,” Rick assures me. He then walks over and gets some iced tea out of the fridge. Confident indeed.
We had given up yesterday. Too many buttons, not enough caffeine. We walked instead to a place called Bobo’s. It’s a classic old-school diner. Oil guys sitting at the counter before work. A mishmash of coffee mugs. Three women working furiously eggs and sausage, toast and biscuits, fancy food? Waffles are as exotic as they get.
“Wow. this coffee is good,” Rick remarked as he sampled the first taste.
But that was then. This is now.
I fiddle some more with the buttons. Timer? Clock? Automatic? No idea. I hit a button randomly, get some water and move on with my life.
And so, naturally, a minute later I hear the reassuring gurgle of coffee brewing.
I ask Rick if he wants a cup. Sure, he replies nervously.
Taking a sip, his eyebrows go up. “Hey, this coffee isn’t ….” he begins. But then he corrects himself. “This is good,” he lies.
Smith boys muddle through. And in the end, things work out just fine.
“Do you want some toast,” he just asked.
Do you know how to make the toaster work?” I ask him. “I think we’re OK as long as it doesn’t burst into flames,” he says.
I predict another trip to Bobo’s in the near future …