Coffee Mug

I had that same cup of coffee this morning. You know the one. Same mug. The coffee as black as the night. Always the same 205°F at that first sip. Always the same brand of beans. I sometimes wonder if I should change something about my coffee. Perhaps add a little honey? French vanilla creamer? Maybe a new mug? But what’s the point? I like my coffee black. I like my mug.

I rode the bus to work again today. I caught the 6:50 at the stop on the corner of Wilson and Davis streets. It takes me downtown to my job at the bank. The bank opens at 9. But I start my day at 8. The ride is about 30 minutes and I read the morning paper in the break room before I get things going in my little teller station. The bus had the same cast of characters. Everyone going to their jobs downtown.

There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary in today’s paper. Frank’s Department store ran another full page ad on page 3. The new summer lineup is available. The Dodgers swept the Giants again. And the Yankees beat the Red Sox. They talked about Nixon’s checkers speech. But the part that interested me was Checkers. That’s a good name for a dog.

The typical customers came through my station today. Making withdrawals. Making deposits. Asking for my pen. The kids get the lollipops and the dogs get the biscuits. The customer gets the receipt, a “thank you”, and a “have a nice day.” I mostly get back pain and the occasional smile from one of the kids for their lollipop. It’s not noteworthy work. But it affords me what I need.

One of the dogs was a Cocker Spaniel. I don’t suppose his name was Checkers too? Probably not. He was the companion for a small lady. She was one of the kids who smiled for the lollipop. Fake Checkers smiled for his biscuit too. The Mister smiled when I gave my thank you and wished him a nice day. I appreciate their kindness.

My lunch was the usual cup-o-noodles I have everyday. Chicken-flavored hot water with noodles. It fits with my meager wage at the bank. And it keeps me alive. I have to stay alive because those withdrawals won’t withdraw themselves, you know. The deposits can’t walk themselves to the vault either. Until they replace me with a robot from one of those science-fiction films, the cup-o-noodles will have to do.

My boss eats lunch at the same time as I do. We stop our work at 12:15 and go back to it at 12:45. She didn’t have much to say, per usual. Just the sort of small talk that keeps me uncomfortable for 30 minutes. “It’s a beautiful day today.” “It looks like it might rain tomorrow.” “Do you have any plans for the weekend?”  I know she means well. I just like to keep to myself, is all.

All of my tills balanced out today like they do everyday. The boss gave me her usual good job today monologue. What else would I do? A bad job? And it isn’t like it’s a difficult job. It would be harder to do it wrong than do it well. I’m not even really sure what other work I’d want to do anyway. I’ve been doing this same job these 15 years now.

Days like this are nice. I can’t complain, really. There is a certain comfort in the usual. In the 15 years I’ve been doing this job, there has been a rarity to the unusual. And I like that. The unexpected is where I’m uncomfortable. “No, Mrs. Brown, I don’t know why he’d do that.” “I’m sorry your gold fish died Mr. Stein. Would you like a glass of water?” I’d rather just stick to my work and my, “Have a nice day.” That’s my usual and I like it.

The bus ride home was mostly uneventful. There was a new fellow on the bus, though. He looked pretty happy. I’m not sure where he was coming from or where he was going. He was already on the bus when I got on and remained when I got off at Wilson and Davis. But he had a grin the entire time I was on the bus. He had flowers in his hands. Perhaps he was headed to call on a lady? Or a visit with his mother at the hospital after receiving good news? Speculation, of course. I didn’t ask.

I was home at exactly 7 just like every other day.  It was Salsbury steak for dinner again. The evening news was the white noise I thought would drown out these thoughts about my day. I don’t dislike my life. I can’t say I like it either. It isn’t a lot. But it is mine. There is a certain comfort in this routine even if it looks like a rut. I know what to expect tomorrow, right?

The water flowing over my hands feels nice. It started cool and it got warmer. This dish soap on the sponge is always a little funny to feel. But it cleans my fork, water glass, and coffee mug each day. I always clean them in that order. I’m not sure when or why that came to be. The fork was a little more difficult today. But the glass was as easy as ever. And here’s my coffee mug to start my day tomorrow…

Actually…scratch that. There it is shattered all over this floor. I suppose tomorrow is going to be different than I expected after all. Maybe I’ll have breakfast at the corner cafe down the street from the bank and then buy a new mug at Frank’s Department store across the street. I don’t need to read the morning paper tomorrow.

It looks like a new coffee mug has a point after all. How about that?