Now, That's Just Not Right ...
The sign on the local coffee house’s billboard says “Come
Enjoy the Rarest Coffee in the World!”
I’m a coffee hound, as in 15 cups a day.
I’ll probably die from my stomach rotting out or my heart palpating through
Whatever. It gets me
through the very long days of mommyhood with four small kids.
I pull a “U-ie” (on two wheels no less) and succumb to my
desire, no need, to get a large non-fat latte.
Why not? I don’t buy clothes any
more. I’ve told my husband to replace
the “new clothes” line item in the budget with “caffeine for Mommy.” He informs me that clothes shopping would be
After I order and tell my boys that, NO, they will not get a
gooey treat because they just ate a granola bar and that it would be PIGGY, not
to mention unhealthy, to have pure sugar (“but why are YOU getting something?” “Because,
it’s got Splenda® in it, that’s why.” Now, shush.)
I then inquire about the world’s rarest coffee.
It’s from Indonesia. Would I like a taste?
A taste? A
taste? What is this a wine bar?
Me: “Sure. And, I’ll
take a pound. Ground, please. Can’t deal with those pesky beans at 4 a.m.!”
The Barista: “Um, I can’t sell you a pound because it would
cost you $300 …”
Me (eyes popping out of head): “Huh? I just blew that on groceries!” (Nope.
“Why so much?!”
The barista conspiratorially motions me to the side of the
sugary Danish display. She clearly
doesn’t want anyone else to hear the following explanation.
“It’s called ‘Kopi
Luwak.’” She whispers.
there is a money-like animal, the Common
Palm Civet, that eats only the very best coffee beans. After it passes through their system, the
beans are collected and washed, OF COURSE, (she smiles) and then processed. Since it is an, ummm, complicated process
(she smiles again) it is more expensive.”
I look at my empty sample cup, reflexively grab my stomach
and stare at her wild-eyed.
Me: “You mean the coffee
I just drank came from a monkey’s POOP?”
The barista: “The
beans are WASHED! You see, normally when
beans are harvested, there are many green or overripe ones which make the coffee
less pure -- ”
I tune out. In
college, I picked coffee in Nicaragua
so I know how hard it is, not to mention how the task usually falls upon women
and young children. I fully support Fair
Trade practices and, if paying $300 a pound for coffee can help the people of
Indonesia break the cycle of poverty and debt, I’m all for it.
But, I’m just saying, I think somebody, somewhere needs to
work on their marketing.
‘Cause, even though I’m sleep deprived, desperate for an
artificial rush of adrenaline to make me a smiley mommy and fully supportive of
eradicating sweatshops in the fields?
I really, really, REALLY don’t want to drink poopie coffee.