"Girl, I just gotta have my java!"
This is what Gail, the manager of the restaurant-café that has since closed, would shout at me. I would step aside and let her have at the espresso machine, mixing syrups, frothy milk and espresso to create just the concoction to start her day off right. And it wasn't long before I was her disciple. Yes, I would agree in my head after perfecting my seventh cappuccino of the day behind her back, I gotta have my java too.
The sum of free coffee and minimum wage, however, wasn't enough to keep me optimistic about my summer job. Soon, after long, boring hours of steaming lactose, I couldn't repress sadistic schemes from entering my twisted brain. "Forget politicians," I thought. "The real power of America lies in the hands of baristas."
It dawned on me while staring at the nearly empty box of regular espresso pods and the full box of decaf pods: As a humble café-girl, I could potentially cause major damage to society at large and never be suspected as the culprit. If only I switched the pods for every customer, people who wanted to pull all-nighters to work on the big presentation on the annual budget would be sleeping upright in their rolly chairs. Also, people who intended to get to sleep sometime and ordered decaf would lie awake in their beds all night, wondering what they had done to deserve insomnia. The next day, they too, would fall asleep in their rolly chairs. And perhaps, in the weeks following, the proletariat would rise.
Unfortunately, my term as evil mastermind was short-lived. I soon found espresso doesn't actually contain the high-powered anti-sleep agents that Americans believe it does. I realized this after chugging a double-shot -- and passing out shortly after. I slept like a baby for hours while visions of sugarplum frappuccinos danced in my head. "You're a fake," I said to one of them. "You add 300 calories of high-fructose corn syrup and a dollop of whipped fat to try to mask the nasty taste of espresso, and after all of that, its powers are as weak as a newborn kitten. I need a proud lion's dose of caffeine in the mornings. Thanks a lot."
We want to believe in espresso. We want to believe in a power greater than us to which we can pledge allegiance through a $2 swipe on our Visa card. Caffeine is a religion of lies, and the high priests of this religion are the ones in your 8 a.m. discussion with those huge thermoses whose tops can be removed and used as little mugs.
Caffeine extends further than religious territory -- it has established itself as a full-blown culture. As long as we associate coffee drinks with listening to jazzy musical performances and sitting around lazily on suede couches discussing philosophy, we can forget what coffee really is: strained, ground beans that taste pretty similar to dirt. It looks even less drinkable than dishwater, but we stand in line for it.
Some of us even use coffee drinks for medicinal purposes. There are times when I am paralyzed with a headache around noon, only to remember that I forgot to have my cup o' joe earlier that day. I am so addicted to believing I am awake that my brain rebels against the rest of my body when I don't invest in the web of lies.
What led us to this point? Why do we need to believe a magical brown potion is keeping us awake and focused? Maybe it is a result of forcing ourselves to stick to schedules that are unnatural. When we stay up all night studying and then have to take a test early the next morning, we don't think we can be awake enough on our own. This estimation probably holds some truth, but caffeine isn't the real answer. It is just the convenient one we can buy over the counter. The real secret to staying awake is one we refuse to accept: actually getting enough sleep. This requires time, which we have way less of than plus dollars.
Marissa's column runs biweekly Wednesdays. She can be reached at dorazio@cavalierdaily.com.
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