The Summer of the Decaf, Iced Mocha or Coffee-Flavored Sugar-Chocolate Milk

(Post by Tracy)

I had another one today. Another decaf, iced mocha. Delicious, like yesterday's. Actually, I suppose I had 2 yesterday, come to think of it.

Let me just say, I am not a coffee-drinker.

Really, I'm not. At least that is what I say... I guess, maybe, that's now not so true. I don't even recognize myself anymore.

I think coffee is gross! The only way I'll drink it is loaded up with milk and sugar so that really it's a child's version of coffee-flavored sugar-milk (or I guess what I have discovered this summer: coffee-flavored sugar-chocolate milk).

I couldn't even make coffee for myself if I was interested in trying. I was a barista for 5 years, yet I don't know how to work a regular Mr. Coffee coffee maker. I only have a vague idea of how a French press works. I am not really clear on how to brew another pot at school in the fancy industrial coffee machine. I have never had my own Keurig one-cup cup of coffee. I'm just not a coffee drinker, and the only situation in which I have ever been considered a Coffee Person at all is from behind the back of the espresso machine, foaming your milk and handing you your grande vanilla latte.

It's a little scary to think that this is changing.

And now, really, it's bad enough that the coffee drinker I'm turning into is the one who relies on the chocolate-infused version of the original. But then add to that the D-word.

Ignoring for a moment the icky bitter taste of coffee, what about its abundance of caffeine? That, I simply physically cannot handle. Ask poor Tom who has had to witness me coming down (and going up! and coming down!) from an accidental caffeine trip. 30 minutes after finishing the black iced tea or coca-cola, I start to feel very jittery inside. My heart starts to beat a little faster. I get warm, sometimes even sweaty. I'm not exaggerating this, people. And it's downhill from there! Fast forward to find an adult woman, who normally falls asleep on any movie started after 8:30 pm, bouncing off the proverbial walls at 2 in the morning, alternately feeling the rush of adrenaline and the slamming impact of sleep deprivation. It is not a pretty sight.

And yes, I am that customer who orders decaf, doesn't trust the competence of the cashier, and, as the barista hands me my cup, asks ever-so-nonchalantly, "Oh, did I remember to order decaf?" (Are you kidding? Yeah, of course I did. I know I did. But better than saying, "This better be decaf or I will physically lose it in 30 minutes!") And as long as the barista doesn't show more than 2 seconds of hesitation before saying, "Yeah, decaf!" I go on my merry way.

And so, ladies and gentlemen, somehow I got to where I am today. I have been drinking decaf, iced mochas semi-regularly for a few weeks. Kind of everywhere we go where beverages are sold. And I'm craving them, too. The worst part about the whole situation is when I most crave a decaf, iced mocha: immediately after finishing a decaf, iced mocha. I told Tom that I am officially going to limit myself to one a day, tops. (I told him that today. Yesterday doesn't count.)

And so here I am. Drinking herbal, caffeine-free iced tea, remembering the tasty mocha I had earlier today and imaging the taste of the mocha that I will likely have tomorrow.