HUMAN WRECKAGE
The Coffee Maker
Ann “hearts” her morning coffee. Me too. I’ve come a long way from freeze-dried granules of Maxwell House (Good to the last drop!) or Nescafe and hot tapwater. But we’re not precious about our coffee. We brew a 12-cup pot of coffee-flavoured coffee every morning and none of that medium roast stuff. I prepare everything the evening before because it saves nine minutes come dawn. Whoever awakes first hits the BREW button before their ritual ablutions – again, time management is crucial – while the other comes to to a delicious smell.
Late October Ann and I began having to jimmy open the lid of our Krups unit’s cistern with a bread knife. The latch mechanism permanently jammed. After about a week we both got pretty adept at it, one more step added to the routine. We knew something had to give, probably a hard water-encrusted plastic hinge. Disposable consumer durables tend not to fix themselves – especially after their limited warranties have expired. Ann was proactive, researching replacements. We asked around our circle of family and friends for recommendations.
The coffee snobs chimed in. One recommended an elaborate system or solution (no mere coffee maker) retailing for some $500. Another couldn’t get past our electric grinder because, you see, coffee beans require an artisan touch, pressing or crushing. Spinning grinder blades create heat, enough heat apparently to further roast a roasted bean and the desultory result is, of course, bitter. In his defense, he lingers over a cup of coffee while Ann and I swill ours. Also, he hasn’t smoked 25 a day for 50 years. My palate is unsophisticated. All I desire is black diner joe in my Stones, Beatles or Who mug. If there’s an oily slick or Carly Simon clouds on the surface, I’m cool. Ann’s a bit fussier, hot coffee into hot milk, not quite half and half. Her ratio changes with each subsequent cup: less dairy, more joe.
The Crooked 9’s kitchen was designed and built before either of us were born; working space is limited. A countertop appliance is no easy purchase. It must fit into its designated place; its footprint must be compact. A coffee maker’s height is of particular concern: it cannot obstruct the kitchen light switch (the second thing to be turned on each morning) nor interfere with the bottom of the cupboard door where we keep our mugs. We elected to buy a Braun unit. German again. According to the email I received, Ann and I are now part of the Braun family which, I suppose, is less lucrative but morally superior to being welcomed to the Krupp family whose company armed all of Europe in the two centuries prior to this one.
Our morning coffees are my gig – even if I forget to add water from time to time. Ann suggested I might read through the operator’s manual and do the set up for our new machine, learn its ins and outs, which I did. Simple stuff. I scanned the instructions in the way I look at most posts on my Facebook feed, blankly. I wasn’t exactly going to Mars with Elon or even booking a domestic flight and hotel room.
My first task was to set the unit’s digital clock to Mountain Time. The display read 10:28 out of the box. I plugged the unit into the wall socket under the cupboard on the backsplash and depressed the CLOCK button for three seconds. I jigged local time. Cyan lights flashed but the clock didn’t move from 10:28. Jesus Christ, this thing’s going back to the store. A fresh off the assembly line dud. I got my face up real, real close to the clock and saw the actual functioning clock face was protected for shipping by an opaque black cling decal reading 10:28. Well, fuck.
Next up was programming for water hardness. Some new-fangled function. The unit’s default setting was H3, Alberta hard, eh, bud? Mineral content. The button I was supposed to depress didn’t work. I thought: Fuckit, it’s the default anyways.
The third button was for setting the temperature of the hotplate. That button didn’t work either. The default heat setting was MEDIUM. Ann had wanted it set to LOW. I thought: Fuckit. We always pour the pot into a different carafe so it won’t stew on the burner anyways. The clock’s working and we won’t have to open the lid with a fucking knife.
Ann was in the kitchen too, her back to me, taking care of other business. She asked, “How’s it going?”
I said, “Good, good. I’ve got this.”
The fourth button was STRENGTH. This button was the subject of some previous discussion because ROBUST takes twice as long as REGULAR and time is a delicate subject for seniors. Waiting on a ROBUST brew might not see us out one morning and I can’t imagine facing Judgment Day without a couple cups of coffee and a few cigarettes first. Must present at my absolute best; seconds count. I couldn’t set the strength button either but its default setting was in our favour: REGULAR. I thought: Fuckit.
Ann said, “All set up, ready to go?”
I replied with my favourite hedging portmanteau, “Welp.” I continued, “I got the clock working, but the other buttons don’t seem to function, so I’ve left them on their default settings.”
Ann said, “Would you mind if I take a look?”
I said, “No, no, not at all. Have at ‘er. I think I did everything right. I read the instructions.”
We switched places in the kitchen. I got out of Ann’s way.
Ann said, “Geoffrey.”
I thought: Uh-oh.
“Did you turn the power on?”
I said, “Coffee makers don’t have power buttons. You just plug them in, the clock lights up and then you press START or BREW or whatever, whenever.”
“This one does.”
“Fuck me. That’s two buttons to press in the morning now.”
Just yesterday, our new machine in service for more than a week, Ann showed me how to remove the filter basket.
Dispatches from the Crooked 9 has been your most unreliable, unbalanced and inaccurate alternative source of everything since 2013. My companion site www.megeoff.com is a little dusty, but up to date.
