I was grabbing items from the dairy section in Donelans – milk, whipped cream in a tall, red and white can, a block of smoked maple cheddar – when I spied one of those coffee courtesy tables. Two Thermos jugs side by side, one with decaf. I’ve stopped drinking all coffee, even decaf, but I figured a small cup of hot would enhance my shopping experience.
I reached across the table, picked up a mini cup, held it in front of the Thermos and pumped. Nothing happened. Quite often nothing happens when I pump those things. Empty? Too complicated? I pumped twice more, still nothing. I was beginning to feel self-conscious. What if people were watching me? I mean, how hard are these things to work?
I looked closely at the top and saw a little black lever. I turned it to the left until the lettering on it said, open. Oh, I thought, that must be it. I pumped vigorously but still nothing. I could feel fellow shoppers turning from their orange juice selection to watch me. I wanted my decaf and to be on my way.
Before I could press the top again, a young guy with curly hair like mine walked past me to the back of the table. That would be the other side from where I stood. That would be the working side of the table, the one with cream, sugar and spouts. He asked, “Would you like some coffee?” I’m not sure what I had been holding my cup under, but I now knew why it was empty. Face flushed, I squeaked, ”Yes,” and I peered over the tops of the Thermos bottles. Spilling down the sides of the flat black plastic overflow container, and along the table cloth, was what looked like tributaries to the Amazon river.
The display had been set up by the Equal Exchange Coffee folks – free samples come with literature and a pep talk. Bill showed me a photo album of coffee beans picked and processed in Nicaragua. As I stared at the women in colorful dress scooping up coffee beans, I imagined sneaking into the upright freezer and hiding behind the frozen pizzas. I told Bill I’d been to Jamaica, brought beans back to grow, and that my son Matt and his friend Hil were going to Nica.
Patiently, Bill explained that he was new to the job, rattled on a bit more about why I should support Equal Exchange, all the while completely ignoring the pool of coffee gathering at his feet. As though this sort of thing happened all the time. He was the perfect person to promote a fair trade organization, and before I scooted away, full cup in hand, I pleaded with him,” Look, if my son ever happens by, promise me you won’t tell him what I did today.”
