The Accidental Coffee

I am in possession of an entire pot of accidental coffee this evening.

Here’s the thing: I am not worth a tinker’s damn when I first get up in the morning, so I typically prepare the coffeepot the night before in order to avoid unpleasantness at dawn.  I do it every night, like clockwork.  And I did it tonight.  However, instead of hitting the “AUTO” button so it will start on its own in the morning, I accidentally hit the “ON” button, and then proceeded to leave the room.  A half hour later, I walk back into the kitchen to be greeted by a full pot of coffee.  

Accidental coffee.

Now this is the kind of problem that seems to always find me.  Specifically, a weird one.  What in the world am I going to do with a full pot of coffee at this time of night?

Drink this accidental coffee, you say?  Well, I suppose I could.  Only I have a heck of a hard time falling asleep at night if I drink any coffee after 3:00 in the afternoon.  And this is a pot that my father would say “puts hair on your chest”.  I planned to tackle the next chapter in the book I am co-authoring in the morning, so I made this pot using the so-called “good stuff” (i.e.-not the everyday brand I typically use), and it’s extra strong and extra large.  If I start guzzling java now, I’ll be awake until dawn and be a mess tomorrow.  Plus, I’ll have to run to the bathroom every half hour all night.

 I toyed with the idea of inviting some people over for accidental coffee.  The trouble with that is that it’s fairly late in the evening, and most of the people I would invite are home and settled in for the night.  They have work or whatever in the morning, and going out in the mid-winter cold to have something that will keep them up all night would be about as appealing as a root canal.  So that’s out.

There’s always the option of just dumping this accidental coffee down the drain.  I hate to do this.  You see, I come from a long line of people who subscribe to Yankee frugality.  It’s just not in my blood to waste this much coffee, especially a whole pot of “the good stuff”.  Plus if I did, I am fairly sure that somewhere in Latin America, Juan Valdez would shed a tear.  His burro probably would too.  I would have a hard time living with the thought of that.

I could get creative, I guess.  Maybe I could pour all this accidental coffee into colorful cups, put bright ribbons around them, set them on a decorative tray and take them to my neighbors’ house with a note of appreciation for their being such fine neighbors.  I’d ring the doorbell, set the tray down, and run away.  Then this accidental coffee would be someone else’s problem.  The thoughtful presentation and the kindness behind it would be such that they would have no choice but to take it in and drink it.  Trouble is, I have no colorful cups, bright ribbons, or decorative trays, and my neighbors aren’t all that terrific really.  Their dog tries to bite me and they sometimes play country-western music too loudly.  So that’s out.

The thought of setting up a roadside stand and selling it crossed my mind.  Briefly.  However, the market for accidental coffee sold on the side of the road on a quiet suburban street late on a Sunday night in mid-winter is not really a jumping one, even if the price was right.

So, it looks like I’ll have to compromise.  I’ll drink some of it, but not so much that I’ll be awake all night, and then dump the rest down the drain. 

Sorry, Juan