In Forthright Defense of a Social Dissenter

It was a friendly acquaintance's chipper voice on the other end of the phone. She was suggesting that since I'd be in her area, we should go to Starbucks and enjoy a social half hour.

"We can go get coffee," she proposed, "wait, do you like coffee?" then, without a pause, "Ha,ha! Of course you do! You're from Seattle, after all."

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The city to which belongs the suburb of my nativity has shaped my existence in many ways. I am more likely to drink water without than with ice. I don't carry an umbrella. I use my parking brake and I know which way to turn my wheels on a hill. I intimately understand the cons of growing blackberries in my yard.

But all Seattle, suburbs, and nativity regardless:

I. do. not. drink. coffee.

You understand the risk I take every time these words cross my lips? Understand that I have no wish to move & have every wish to preserve my life? Here, in the land where the Starbucks to block ratio is approximately 2 to 1. Here where most people consume 2-7 cups of coffee a day. Here where coffee is served at (almost) EVERY social occasion regardless of the level of formality or the time of day.

In self-preservation, therefore, I offer publicly my story. When I was about four, Grandma gave me a taste of her coffee. It tasted horrible. I decided both consciously & seriously that I would never drink coffee. Fast forward to adulthood. I know coffee is bad for me. I feel no need to convince myself to like something that is not good for me anyway. I do not drink coffee. The end.

I can count on three fingers the drinks I've ordered from Starbucks in the last five years. But I don't believe in passing up on pleasant chats with friendly acquaintances.

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"Starbucks sounds great," I heard myself say.

I truly enjoyed my small-as-it-gets cup of hot cocoa.