The day had arrived. The last day of work in a local office, for the Passenger. A part time job that in some ways ended too soon, and in some ways not soon enough. With mixed feelings, she intended to leave quietly, after the last assigned project was completed.
Promptly at 8AM, her coworker, the very patient trainer/supervisor/cleaner-upper-of-mistakes, arrived. Bearing a gift to go on.
An iced coffee. At least the Passenger thinks that is the official name of this sugary, caffeinated concoction. With chocolate syrup and whipped cream.
Now you need to know, that in all of her half century on this earth, the Passenger has never once ingested coffee. In any form. She has briefly entertained the idea on numerous occasions. Especially on long days in front of the screen, or days following the all too frequent sleepless nights.
But the smell didn't appeal or impress, so why would the taste be palatable? And to order one these days would appear to require the learning of a whole new language, as well.
But this was a gracious gift. Offered in friendship. A perfect opportunity. How could she refuse! She didn't. And so she and an iced coffee settled down at the computer again to list online, of all things, travel mugs. As she ferreted out information and details, applying them to blanks on the computer program template, a first tentative sip was taken.
Not bad. A tad bitter, yes. But definitely not a hardship to drink. Maybe not this gal's first choice of beverage, and most assuredly iced would be preferable to hot.
Task completed and remaining coffee in hand, she said her goodbyes and punched out her time card for the last time. Driving home, she mused over the morning's interesting twist and new experience. How many people (other than the Trucker) can say they tasted their first coffee in all their 53 years? And did she really and truly dislike coffee, or was it just prejudice? Which leads to the question, will she order coffee again, on her own?
Rolling up her own driveway, the thought struck. After a mostly sleepless night, no breakfast, and three hours sitting in front of a screen, she was awake. Or, as Jeff Foxworthy would say, "She. Was. A-WAKE!" Really and truly! No sleepiness, yawning, or difficulty focusing. When had she last felt like this, except in a crisis situation?
All day and into the night, alertness persisted. No complaints, just a wry grin.
Maybe she'll need to try this again.
After all, there are 53 years to make up for.
