SHORT STORY: A Cup of Coffee

While he was giving the back to the world, she was giving him her back. Drinking coffee alone had held back its taste. It was not much a matter of appliances. The coffee beans imported from a nation –that regardless the profits of cocaine, heroine, and pot—still believed in the flavor produced with humble pride. The flavor of a good Colombian coffee.
If one wanted to drink the best Colombian coffee, it should be drank in America or Europe. Importers were in charge of bringing the best beans reserved to export and which were scarcely found in Colombian stores. But how about the other stuff? The good stuff? No, no. Not the cocaine, heroine, and pot. The tradition.

Did they forget about it or did they not know that there was one? The tradition of drinking coffee among the best: The best beans and the best friends. A luxurious pleasure.

The nation did not produce the vast majority of the consumed coffee around the world. Brazil was the top producer in quantity but the coffee from Colombia was top number one in taste. A matter of quality.

The woman recently diagnosed with cancer was hooked by the health benefits conferred to her by working part time at a local bank. Working part time was just a way of saying. She was the mother of two little daughters, yeah, the 24-7 unpaid, unrecognized job while her husband worked in a casino making night shifts. They kept their jobs to maintain their family, that’s what they always said. That’s what they wanted.
Even though there was not much time to see each other or build a strong relationship, they both knew about sacrifice. It was not an isolated word in an Oxford dictionary and she knew that word better than him; and because she knew it so well, she was the perfect fit for a customer service position.
During the weekly meetings, she and her coworkers were constantly reminded of how they were winners, the importance of achieving results and the sales goals of the month. A constant pat on the back.

On a Saturday morning, she sneaked out of the building to smoke a cigarette and that’s when she observed the disappointment of a customer outside who was unaware of the bank employee standing next to him. The man sipped the hot coffee, frowned, and immediately spat it out. It was his first and last sip. He yelled and cried out loud, “This coffee sucks!” dumping the Styrofoam cup in the trash can.

She realized that the coffee was prepared like in the kitchen by the staff: They poured too much water on it. Just a half pouch of coffee per eight cups of water.

With the boss out of sight but convinced of the right thing to do, she, a heavy coffee drinker, rushed into the kitchen to add an extra coffee pouch. It was not her intention to displease the boss or go against what was customary. The angered face of the customer was an urgent call to action.

That expression on a customer's face could not be repeated again. It was mandatory to bring back the flavor of a good coffee knowing that the perfect ground beans had already been selected.

Then, once in the kitchen, she carefully added the extra pouch. What an extra pouch can do!

Customers smelled the aroma and with each sip, showed their satisfaction with a wide smile. “What kind of coffee is this? It tastes so good!” another customer asked, “Do you mind if I take another cup?”.

 

Now the coffee tasted as it should. It tasted like care, love, and friendship.

Ingredients you can always taste, even, in a cup of coffee.