Rups and Government Coffee

At the tender age of two, I drank my first sippy-cup filled with coffee. My parents always told me that this was just a normal Cajun thing. I have no idea if this is true, or if it was just something to shut my toddler yap and make me happy. Regardless, my auspicious brewing childhood has given rise to an oddesey in coffee experience.

Since that time, I have experienced damn near every variety of coffee imaginable. I've tried Turkish, Cuban, Cajun, Columbian, Jamaican, Ethiopian, Virginian (yes, it is unique), and even a cup of coffee that one gentleman in the French Quarter suggested was "from space". (For what it is worth, I think it was just Cafe Du Monde coffee with bourbon in it. If that is the case, nearly everyone that I'm related to has tried and enjoyed "space coffee".)

My experience of coffee has even transcended geography and even become situational. I've had "My Mom made this and she is happy" coffee, and I can tell the difference between that and "Mom made this and she's pissed" coffee. I've enjoyed "I just got a glimpse of enlightenment coffee" and dredged through "I haven't slept in three days" coffee. On three occasions, I savored a cup of "I can't believe I didn't get blown up doing that" coffee. Heady brew, let me assure you.

The only experience that I've never had is decaf. I'm rather proud of that.

As I sat down for my nightly exercise in expression, I asked myself what was the most unique coffee that I've ever experienced. My mind suggested all kind of tantilizing, awe-inspiring stories of coffee bliss. Stories that would almost be the java-nese equivalent of smut. Sadly, none of those won the little twisted election in my head. The front-runner in that particular special olympics is the most bizarre and intimidating coffee that I've ever drank, and it is that noxious brew that I will try and describe for you tonight.

Government coffee.

If you have worked for a government agency for any extended period of time, you can stop reading this essay right now.

Seriously, stop. I'd hate for you to re-live this horror. I only share it here because everyone else needs to know what we go through.

How to express government coffee?

No tale of myself and government coffee would be complete without a mention of Rups. I invoke Rups name only sparingly and with great caution. The usage of the name is not unlike invoking the name of the Devil. You do it sparingly lest you draw his attention.

Rups began its life as a Krups Coffee-Maker. It lived on the fourth floor of the old public defender's office, a building that now stands derelict and condemned. I deeply hope that Rups remains within that old building (though I sometimes have nightmares to the contrary). That old hulk of a government office is a fittingly black and rotting tomb for Rups, a foul creature that will plague the nightmares of dozens, if not hundreds of employees.

At some point and time before I first encountered Rups, it lost its "K". While I did not witness this event, I visualize it very much like the scene in Raiders of the Lost Ark where the divine power of the Ark of the Covenant burns the Nazi symbols off its little wooden bower. I like to think Rups destroyed his "K" as a statement to the world that it had attained its own malevolent self-awareness.

And make no mistake, Rups hated humanity. It expressed this hatred through its production of the most... government-y government coffee that I have ever encountered.

Know how plastic is porous? Know how cheap coffee exudes a lot of oil? Do you know that funky taste your coffee starts to get if you go through three pots without the application of soap and water to your components? I want you to envision a set of porous plastic components that had not seen soap or water in literally hundreds of pots of coffee. These components kept absorbing Sam's Club Coffee oils, and eventually, hatred as well.

When Rups exuded its black liquid, it had a rainbow-colored skein of oil on top. This is government coffee.

"Fixins" for the government coffee were extremely limited.

Creamer only existed in the non-dairy variety, and it was not effective. You probably don't analyze creamer in terms of "effectiveness", do you? Let me try and illustrate. Government coffee is the only coffee that I've ever experienced that would literally laugh off creamer. You heard me. Know how you pour in creamer, and the darkness and light swirl and yield a nice, beige-colored liquid? When creamer was added to government coffee, the liquid would say in a small Russian voice, "I must break you..." The coffee would briefly lighten... and then return to dead black. No creamer exists that can in any way gain the upper hand over government coffee, and as I've said, Rups' government coffee was its own unique creature.

Sugar wasn't usually an option. Any sugar present would be quickly used by your fellow desperados. The only packet you could find would be in the very back of the cabinet. Said packet said, "Elect Jimmy Carter" on it.

Sugar can go bad, my friends. True fact. Carter sugar makes you hallucinate. This condiment blight only added another layer to the horror of government coffee.

"Why would anyone consume this noxious liquid?" you may ask yourself.

The answer lies in one of those old cliches you may use but never think about. Ever told someone you wouldn't sleep with them "even if they were the last other human being on the planet"? Think about that. Sure, for the first few years after the apocalypse, you might hold true to your promise, but as time and desperation, and perhaps necessity, eroded your willpower, you might eventually have an existential crisis. You would start thinking about the continuation of human race and your duty. Time would twist your perception, and suddenly, horrifically, this non-attractive person would start singing their siren song until you forswore yourself in a flopping, desperate, thirty-eight second session of passion.

Same with Rups. You did what you could to avoid that poison. But eventually, you would have that day when you were really tired and had something important to do. It was the end of the month, and your cash was too low for you to go buy coffee from a reputable business. In that long, dark night of the soul, you would go to Rups for the caffeinated release that only his government coffee would provide.

Afterwards, like a bad one-night stand, you would regret it. Ironically, you would have that same feeling of being gut-punched afterward. The oil would perform a number on your stomach. It would curdle anything else in your stomach, whether such things could be curdled or not. (Yes, this coffee could curdle meat. I experienced it. It happened.)

In our office, there were all manner of public defenders, ranging from the shiny and brand-new (me) to the ones so weathered, skilled, and experienced that they resembled extremely determined leather bags with brilliant legal minds. One of the baliwicks of these "old school" PD's toughness was there ability to pound government coffee without even wincing. This evinces a level of toughness that I still can't fathom.

Hopefully, my accounting of this horror leaves you shocked and, on some level, deeply grateful for your regular morning cup. Perhaps the best side effect of being exposed to government coffee (other than the x-ray vision I've developed) is deep appreciation for non-government coffee. I have literally stood at the Fresh Market with tears in my eyes, thanking the acne-faced teenager who gave me my little paper shot glass of good coffee while I shopped.

You have to know the horrific to appreciate the decent.