A rumor went around recently that I had died. At first I thought, “Why hadn’t anyone contacted me to ask?” but then I realized how silly it would be to call a dead person and inquire if he is dead.

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I learned yesterday that I am not dead. This was not news to me, as my Sunday morning activities carried most of the evidence of a living human life as lived by me: I was frustrated once again by one of my local coffeeshops.

A question/rant before I continue: Is the overfilling of take-out coffee orders something local to where I reside, or is this a new practice at coffeeshops everywhere?

Some months ago I noticed that at the moment the large or venti paper coffee cup is placed gently in my hand by a genial server and I turn around to leave the counter area, this minimal movement of my body converts the venti into a grande as the scalding hot coffee douses my hand through the hole in the plastic lid—even with a plastic stopper installed by the genial server. This started to happen to me (or for me, to make something positive out of it) at multiple coffeeshops here and in other local cities last autumn. Coffeeshops have started to fill cups close to the top and then add cream to bring the whole thing to the top. Last week, I inaugurated a new practice: I would ask with my out-loud voice if the server would please not overfill or would please dump out some of the coffee rather than fill it to the rim. For non-scientific purposes, I report to you that this has worked one out of two times so far, and yesterday was not that time.

I knew I was alive because my hand was scalded and smelled like a medium roast, but I did not know that I am not dead until I was told.
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