Mrs. Overtime dropped in last week. I wish someone had given me a heads-up. I would have gone out for the day. She was her usual boorish self. She barged right in like she owned the place and immediately started in, finding fault and barking orders with that serenity shattering voice of hers. Once in ten years she takes over for an hour or so. Her toxic personality, her grating voice, her dumpy little body and that Bull Dyke haircut of hers tests the very limits of my well-practiced tolerance. It appears from observing her that the more ignorant a person is, the more assertive and cock-sure they are.
She ruined my coffee pot. She decided to make herself some coffee. She just helped herself like she was at home. She disapproved of the condition of my coffee pot, so she washed it first, neither knowing that it was in fact my coffee pot nor asking for my permission to use it. It was my coffee, too; and my filter.
I informed her: “You never wash a coffee pot.”
I am not an unreasonable man.
Most modern drip coffee makers are made with thermoplastic parts. Most people think plastic lasts forever. Not so. While it may take longer for man-made plastics to degrade in the environment, they nevertheless do degrade over time. Every time hot water is applied to the coffee pot’s thermoplastic parts some of it breaks down on a molecular level and is released into the water, tainting the coffee. Washing it always leaves a dish detergent residue and a toxic chemical taste. What appear to be stains on the pot is actually dehydrated coffee; which is exactly what instant coffee is.
My coffee pot was broken in. My coffee pot was well seasoned. My coffee pot was patinaed. The thermoplastic parts of my coffee pot were coated with a film of essential oils of the coffee bean. This oily film formed a barrier between the plastic and detergent residue and the coffee.
Mrs. Overtime’s coffee tastes like plastic and dish soap.
My coffee tastes like coffee.
My filter; my coffee; my coffee pot; my home.
My Life, too.
Just before she left she ordered me to clean the dust bunnies from behind the stove;
said they’d start a fire.
“You never wash a coffee pot.”