Bitter Coffee Machine

Antique espresso machine for sale.

Short circuit? Me? Are you kidding! I’m the high-end, must-have model of coffee makers. I do NOT short circuit.

That was just some technical difficulty that I was going through and I apologize for the inconvenience, I really do. I’m quite embarassed by the whole fiasco of how you decided to invite your boss to dinner that night, however let’s make this clear, I did not, have not short ciruited.

And actually, that’s just insulting. Your insinuation that I have broken down has insulted so that I’ve become bitter about it all.

I roast delicious gourmet coffee beans. I refine the flavors down, extract the dark, robust nectar to serve you — ungrateful and uncultured you — refreshing beverages. That is what I do. Not short ciruit.

And so go ahead and pick me up, grunting and sweating, with the intent of putting me in the back of your sedan to drop me off at some swap meet where hopefully I’ll be picked up by some hippies. Because believe me, Yuppie, it wasn’t good for me either. Go and get your instant drip, Mr. Coffee.

See if I care.

The Neighbor’s Pet

Editor’s note: This is an interactive, writing prompt.

I recently moved in to a new house in a well to-do neighborhood, across the way from a cheery elementary school. Our neighbors — Rita and Greg — with their skinny, runner’s legs and their eco-friendly car were also pretty sweet and unimposing. Until recently.

I had met them a couple times when getting the mail or pulling into the driveway but that night they had invited me over for dinner. Upon arriving at their house, everything seemed as it should — straight out of a high-end furniture catalog. Small talk centered around that and how lovely their home was until Greg cleared his throat.

    “We’re so glad you have moved in and we’re becoming friends.”

    “Here! Here!” said I, with a couple of glasses in.

    “And isn’t it wonderful how friends are there for one another, when they really need you.”

    “Amen!” I went on, this time as I raised my glass.

    “If you ever needed anything from us, please know you can always count on us.”

    “Same here, buddy. Same here,” I was being poured another glass of the savory red wine.

    “That makes us so happy to hear. You see, Rita and I have a trip that was kind of sprung on us and it would mean so much to us if we could ask a favor of you,” he continued on as I drank copiously. “We have a new pet, Roger, and we can’t get him kenneled.”

    “Well, I don’t think that would be a problem,” I said.

The very next morning, with a ringing in my head and at the door, I found Greg and Rita beside a little crate.

    “You leave this morning?” How did they leave this little detail out?

    “Yea, we told you that.”

    “Did you?” I ushered them in. “I guess I don’t remember that. So this is Roger?”

    “This is the little guy,” and Greg opened the crate’s door only nothing happened.

No Roger came out.

    “He can be a little shy,” Greg touted as he pulled out a packet of snacks from his pocket and waved them at the entrance of the crate.

Noticing the green bite-sized treat, Roger came storming out.

    “What the hell is that?!” How incredible of a hangover was this? A miniature rhinoceros was sitting, almost dog like, on my floor. His horn bobbing up and down as he chewed on the treat.

“This is Roger,” Rita said so matter-of-fact that my eyes nearly popped out as I rolled them.

    “You have a baby rhinoceros? How do you even get one of these?”

    “Actually, he’s fully grown.”

    “You never mentioned that you had a rhino!”

    “Thank you so much for watching him,” Rita said as she looked at her watch. “Greg, we have to go. The plane leaves in 45 minutes.”

    “Wait a minute –”

    “Thanks again! You’re the best. We’ll bring you something back from Hawaii.”


And then they left. Roger, the size of a Pekingese, defecating on the tile floor and me wondering how do you care for a mini rhino.

Dumbest thing you ever read? Or, would you like to see a Part Deux? Leave a comment below and any suggestions and I’ll try to incorporate them like those choose your own ending stories that were oh-so-good in middle school. Good times.