Last Friday, while I was sleeping off the flu, there had been a big faculty meeting at work. I came in this morning to find a lot of coffee still left in the carafe, left to mellow over the weekend. At least the pot was off. I am typically pretty lazy myself about emptying coffee grounds and whatnot, so I made a mental note to clean it out later, when I was feeling more caught up.
In came my new student worker, and I caught her just as she was reaching for the carafe to pour into her travel mug – “hey, that’s old coffee from Friday that I haven’t had time to dump out yet.”
“Friday, you say?” she said, as she cautiously poured a little into her mug.
“Yes, it’s been sitting there all weekend,” I said, my eyes growing wider with horror as she held the swampy effluent to her lips and actually took a sip. “Whoa, hold on, I can make a new batch, it will just take me a couple of minutes!”
“Eh, don’t worry, I can make coffee for myself if I need to. I do this all the time. Hate wasting things. I’ll just heat it in the microwave.”
“We can, uh…we can water the plants outside with that water,” was my feeble suggestion. That seemed to get her to hesitate.
“Hm, well – don’t worry about me, I will make this decision for myself.” I backed away a little relieved, thinking I had dissuaded her from drinking the stale and frankly moldy smelling brew.
Forty minutes later, I realized I wasn’t hearing any coffee pot sounds or smelling any fresh grounds. I did, however, observe her headed to the break room, where the microwave is located.
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