If I had been the observer of my actions and body language a minute ago, I would have drawn the following conclusion:
“Stay away, I think it stinks in there.”
I had my face turned inside out in disgust. The kind of face people make when they are forced to stay put amidst a roiling silent-but-deadly cloud of flatulence. You know, when you try to cover your nose with whatever part of your face is willing to accept the task. (of course you usually end up just looking weird and flaring your nostrils to inadvertently invite in more of the exact odor particulate that you are trying to avoid.
But my disgust wasn’t smell. I was pouring myself a cup of the free coffee on our floor. This stuff is so nasty, but it does the trick. Ironically the company that could most succinctly describe this transaction is BUCKLEY’S cough syrup. Their technique is: Tastes horrible? Check. Works? Check. I wonder if this is how smokers feel about cigarettes.
The irony comes from the fact that the only time this coffee tasted decent is when I had just tasted Buckley’s. I bet Calvin’s Dad could have told me to expect that.