my life of crime

Coffee is my one true vice. I live for that morning cup of coffee. And the second cup later in the morning. And the four other cups later in the day. And while Starbucks remains my favorite of all the coffee pushers, once that initial cup is drained, I'm forced to survive on the swill that is offered at work for the remainder of the day.

Partially because I enjoy my coffee sweet, and partially to kill the taste, I use quite a bit of sugar in the coffee at work. Though, in an attempt at a healthier, more fit me...especially since my dearly departed step counting odometer taught me that I barely move throughout the day...I simply cannot justify the caloric intake from the massive amount of sugar used in my coffee.

Thus, I turn to artificial sweeteners.

Unfortunately, the only artificial sweetener available at my place of employment is Sweet 'N Low. The fact that Sweet 'N Low warns, on the side of each little packet, that it 'may cause cancer in rats' is encouragement enough for me to find alternative artificial sweetening means.

So, once again, I turn to Starbucks. While I love their coffee, I realize that it is overpriced. Therefore, in true economic spirit, I partake freely in their assortment of artificial sweeteners on the coffee preparation counter, all the tiny blue, pink and yellow packets forming a rainbow of sugary sweetness.

Though, perhaps because most of the donut shops in the area have gone out of business, the local police amass at Starbucks early every morning. And because of the cops, who sit strategically close to the sweetening station, my sugar smuggling has become a tricky affair.

As I place my coffee cup down to doctor it up, I carefully align the 'half and half' containers and the 'whole milk' containers to form a barrier around the sweetener bins. With quick glances toward the police sitting close by, I stuff my left coat pocket full of blue packets while stirring with my right hand...the stirring an obvious diversionary tactic.

Once my pocket is full, I quickly cap the coffee, slink out the front door, and cast glances over my shoulder all the way to my car. So far, my black market, underground sweetener ring has flourished. But I fear that one day the whole operation will cave in around me when a sweetener S.W.A.T. team encircles the Starbucks and I'll be hand cuffed in midstir.

Newspaper headlines will reveal every little sordid detail of my illegal doings, and my mother will most likely die of humiliation. But, worse yet, I probably won't even be allowed to take my last cup of Starbucks coffee with me in the police car as I'm driven to the station.