Have you ever spilled black coffee on the floor, or some other surface not including your tongue? If you have, you know that “black” coffee isn’t actually black. It’s reddish-brown.
And yes, I am going there:
“BLACK COFFEE” is what is commonly described as a MISNOMER.
(and a thrilling google image search term:)
I am not deeply invested in the way our culture mislabels beverages. I only bring it up because when I spilled my coffee on Tuesday morning,
I THOUGHT I WAS GUSHING BLOOD.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011, 8:37 AM:
I was wobbling down Lorimer Street on my way to work in a menacing pair of high heels, an up-do, and my roommate’s super trendy, baggy, burnt-chocolate coat, humming along to my fave new artist, OhLand. In my hand, I was carrying a steaming mug of “BLACK” coffee I had been unable to finish at breakfast.
I stomped down the subway staircase with grace, trailing a well dressed young gentleman with an adorable, “German School Boy” look. Mmmm! Life was good.
Apparently, life was TOO good.
As I approached the subway turnstyle, I realized that getting my subway pass out of my wallet was going to be a difficult feat. iPod still blaring, I stuck the mug underneath my arm, and began struggling with every zipper in my bag. Meanwhile, the adorable “German School Boy” was negotiating entry with the turnstyle to my left, but it was not letting him through. He looked my way. OI. He wanted me to move.
“Find your wallet, find your wallet – go – go – go.”
I pretended to concentrate on my bag, when he said something to me. “I’m sorry,” I said (probably too loudly, in an attempt to overcome the deafening music.) When I looked up into his crystal-blue, aryan eyes, I found he wasn’t staring back. He was pointing down, at my coat. Following his slender Germanic finger with my gaze, I found:
reddish-brown fluid gushing from my mid-section!
I WAS SHOT!
Or maybe I was spilling the entire contents of my mug on the subway floor.
I looked back at him in panic. I still couldn’t quite hear him, but according to my lip reading skills, it appears he said, “Aw, that sucks,” whilst smiling at me.
Liquid pooled around my feet. Whatever he said, it was definitely coffee, and the boy was definitely cute.
At that moment, my fingers alighted on my subway pass. “Oh Darn!” I said as I swiped through, giggling. “Woops!” I looked back, gave him my cutest “I might be a clutz, but I’m still cute!” smile and dashed for the train.
Maybe he wants to date me?
This Tail is full of Tips:
1. If you use those coffee-carrying mugs, be sure to get the kind with effective tops.
2. German School Boys are perceptive.
3. If you put milk in your coffee, you may avoid calamity.
Rosie (the Cat)