A Good Cup of Coffee

I made a semi-annual visit to my cardiologist a few days ago.  Semi-annual because my family tree has heart-rot, and this fellow has made it his personal challenge that I not die on his watch, at least of any cardio-related illnesses.  I sometimes think if I got hit by a truck it would take some of the pressure off him.

The worst part of these exams is the prerequisite blood work.  They are “fasting labs,” meaning that I am not supposed to let anything other than water cross my lips after midnight.  Doable except for one small detail:  they always schedule the blood-letting mid-morning.

I have mentioned here before that I am an early riser.  I can skip breakfast, but I absolutely require one thing.  Coffee.  Hot, black, strong, and now.

I always survive until the appointed time, but let’s just say I am not good company.

Blood-suckers satisfied, I always treat myself.  I head for the nearest Waffle House.

I was working on my second cup, waiting for a fried egg sandwich (take that cardiologist), when I glanced at the parking lot.  A lady was hobbling toward the door, struggling to manage the trip on crutches.  Her knee-high cast looked brand new.

I got up and opened the door for her.

“Oh, thank you so much.  I’m really scuffling to get used to these things.”

I told her it was no problem at all.  Glad to help.

I know a little about navigating with crutches.  Surgeries on both feet and a knee.  My first go-round was interrupted when I fell down some stairs.  Broke my right wrist and my left elbow.  The surgeon said, “you are not supposed to go down stairs on crutches.”

Thanks Doc., I kind of figured that out.

I helped the lady get seated at a booth and went back to my coffee.

When I finished my third cup and sandwich, I went to the front to settle-up.

“It’s been taken care of, sir.”

It didn’t register.  I just stood there.  I think I even offered the money again.

“No, your bill has already been paid.”

Dumbfounded, I was nearly outside before it registered.

“You didn’t need to do that ma’am.”

“My pleasure.  Now you have a blessed day.”

I did have a blessed day, mostly from a renewed faith that there are still some very nice folks hobbling along in an increasingly self-centered, broken society.

They say that coffee isn’t good for you.

I think they are wrong.  It was good for me.

15 thoughts on “A Good Cup of Coffee

  1. I remember the exact day I started drinking coffee. It was the 3rd day after my second child was born. I have never missed a cup of coffee in the morning with exception of lab work that requires I not drink it. I am an early riser as well as I love the quiet of morning as dawn appears. Unfortunately I live in a big city and in the near by distance is an interstate and much traffic.

    1. Pat I think I may have had my first little cup when I was three-years-old, although it was mostly cream and sugar. My pawpaw was an early riser too, and he liked to sit on the back steps to take his first cup. That’s a good memory for me. Thanks for bringing it to my recollection.

      Enjoy your cup and the dawn.

  2. Great start to the day. Every day needs to start with black coffee and as little conversation as possible. Yes, there are still good and kind people out there, great story, enjoy your day.

      1. I put milk and sugar in my coffee for years until my second ex-wife convinced me to stop that foolishness, which was decades ago. Now I drink it black like the Good Lord intended. I didn’t start to drink coffee until I was in the Air Force. Sure didn’t start when I was 3.

  3. I started drinking mine black about 10 years ago, when I decided to cut back on sugar as much as possible.

    Sorry you waited so long to start. The emotional scars must be devastating.

  4. Daddy went to work at 6:30 AM for the postoffice and always had our breakfast on the table at 6:00 and would give us half a glass of milk finished with coffee and sugar in it. I still haven’t adjusted to black coffee !! Loved this story so much cuz !!!

  5. You made the casted woman’s day as well Ray, you can bet on that. Two colors, two cultures, one Alabama. All three came together…right there…at the Waffle House. Pay it forward.

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