I love coffee. I have loved it since I was seventeen and a brand new recruit in    the military. There were few pleasures in

basic training. It seemed as though the Drill Sergeants were paid to hurry us around as much as possible. We ran everywhere. We were taught to shout and grunt strange noises that were somehow supposed to make us a better fighting machine. I had always thought that making those noises in a battle would do little more that to get me shot in the head. I'm not sure why they did not teach us to be quiet, but they didn't. In all this hustle and bustle of learning to be men, in all the running around and grunting as loudly as we could, there were two very small pleasure allowed us. One was a 2 minute smoke break, and the other a 3 minute coffee break. I didn't smoke at the time, so while others were inhaling, I practiced my grunting. I did however, learn to love coffee. I drank it black. And strong. I loved the smell of it. I loved the way it went down my throat. The warm feeling it gave me when it was cold outside. I loved the effect it had on me. After a large cup of coffee, I was twice the Grunter I was before. I was faster, louder, and gruntier. Coffee was my salvation. It was wonderful.

 

   Recently, I became placed in the situation of needing a new coffee maker. I guess I should have thought of this before I called off the wedding and asked her to pack her things and move out, but alas, I did not. So, armed with my ever-strained debit card, my search was on. I even told my coworkers that I was going to go buy a new coffee pot tonight. Somehow none of them realized the importance of this event. Even going to the extent of, after my "I'm going to buy a new coffee maker tonight!" statement, one said, "And?" The Gall. Moron. This was not a coffee drinker. This was not someone that knew that Starbucks coffee and chocolate ice cream contained all four major food groups. This person...this non coffee drinking cretin drank...Oh my God, I can hardly get the words out. He drank...Tea. The only support I received from any of these people, was the small redheaded secretary who said to me, "I have a 10 dollar coffee pot that is brand new if you want it." "And I could use the 10 bucks." A ten dollar coffee maker? How can that possibly be any good? Did it have all the features I coveted so much? A clock? A programmable timer so I could tell the pot to start brewing without me? Did it have a sneak-a-cup feature? Or even the gold mesh basket instead of those stupid paper filters that always seem to fall over and pour that morning nectar all over the kitchen floor? Did it have a keep warm feature instead of burning the pot up if you left it on? Auto shutoff? I think not. Ten dollar coffee pot indeed. But, to be kind, I charmingly accepted this small girl's offer of the pot. I could always sell it at a garage sale for a dollar. And only lose nine.

   After work, I hurriedly packed my things in preparation for what I was sure was going to be a great adventure. My destination? Target. Home of one of the largest and most comprehensive coffee maker isles in all of retail. These people understood coffee. The manager of this particular store must have been the other recruit that didn't smoke in the Army, but could always be seen embracing his coffee cup in the morning. He told me once that his life's dream was to stand on a hill recently captured from the enemy. It would be early. Morning's first light. With the mist rising from the surrounding hills for dramatic effect. He would stand on his small hill, and say...
"I love the smell of coffee beans in the morning." This was my kind of guy. How he came to manage this particular Target store I do not know. But it must have been him. Only a true coffee lover would have stacked his store with such a wonderful array of machines. They were all there. Mr. Coffee. GE. Remington. Even Bunn. King of all coffee makers.

 

   I floated down the coffee maker isle in a semi stupor. Marveling at the choices lain before me. There were white ones, and black ones. Shiny chrome and stainless steel. Machines that hung under the counter for saving space. Coffee makers with built in radios so that you could listen to music while waiting for that first cup. There was even a model that came with two stainless steel coffee cups that had the ability to brew right into them! Amazing. Walking down the isle, I lovingly slid my fingers over each maker. Touching each button to see if it had the correct feel. I held up the glass pots to view the light thru them imagining how each would look when full. After what seemed like hours, well two according the non coffee drinking clerk who kept repeatedly telling me "Sir, were closed" I had still not made up my mind. It was all very overwhelming. I went home empty-handed.

  

   The next morning, I awoke and ran to the kitchen, much like a child who remembers they just got a new puppy, only to be confronted by the empty coffee maker space in my kitchen. That's right. No coffee machine.

   Going to work that morning was difficult at best. I had to stop at a store and plop down a buck twenty-five for generic paper cupped brew. Oh the shame. At work, the small red head proudly handed me the ten dollar, and I say this tongue in cheek, coffee maker. I smiled, gave her the needed ten dollar bill and put the ghastly thing in the car. Not sure I was recovered enough that evening for another trip to Target, I brought the machine in the house that night. Opening the box revealed a small, white plastic coffee maker. No clock. No timer. No sneak-a-cup feature. Not even a trial sized box of paper filters.  Only a simple on off switch painted red on one side for those stupid enough to not know what "ON" means.

   The next morning, I had resigned myself to try the unassuming little pot. Although cheap, I liked the way the plastic handle fit my hand. After prepping it, I even liked the authoritative click of the on switch. As it heated, it began to make noise. Not the small hushed hissing I was so used to and fond of. But a large, in your face gurgling noise. Almost as if it was a struggle for the little machine to push the water up into the basket. It took me a few seconds to realize what the noise reminded me of but then I got it. It was grunting! Grunting like a new recruit! It worked faster and faster, grunting harder and harder until a steady stream of coffee was produced.


   After it finished, (no sneak-a-cup option here) I removed the cheap pot, poured myself a cup and sat down. Wow, this was good. This was as good a cup of coffee as I have ever had. The taste was identical to those three minute cups of long ago. I drank. And it was good. So, thanks to the small red headed girl, ten dollars and Folgers, harmony has been restored. I think I will keep this little pot. It works just fine. And we can grunt together.