BENIGN TO FIVE
You love coffee. You love it when it cuddles you with its chocolatey warmth, when it kicks with its strange nutty bitterness, even when its got that marzipan thing going on, making you wonder briefly whether someone has slipped some cyanide into your morning beverage.
There's no shame in loving coffee. Your undeviating fondness for it should make you proud. It should not be seen as an "addiction", a weakness to be taken advantage of. But it is.
Daily, you're exploited ruthlessly by colleagues, people who claim to like you. You call them friends. You enjoy their company at work. You've added them to your social media network. But they conceal within the shadows of their dark souls a terrible truth: to them you are nothing more than a mule.
"Time for a coffee?" at the same time every morning.
"Oh. Are you going?" they respond, feigning casual surprise. (Ooh, they're sly, serpentine creatures.)
You have only one answer: "Yes." Of course you're going. To not go is not even an option for you. It is unthinkable.
If you're lucky, they take out some money. If it has got to that stage they give you their order. You go. Of course you do. You return, leg-heavy, arm-weary, carrying the precious cargo.
"Oh, you're a life-saver," they say, or something like it.
And they'll do it again tomorrow. And so will you. But at least you have your coffee.
Jonathan Rivett doesn't really know what Candy Crush is, but is reliably informed it's a pop culture reference worthy of this column He blogs at www.haught.com.au
