“Gooooood morning, WTXY listeners! What a beautiful way to start a Monday, am I right? The sun is shining, it’s a beautiful seventeen degrees celsius, and we’ve got all the hottest tunes to start your week off right! We’re gonna—“
I slammed my fist down on the radio, and with a staticky fizzle, the announcer finally shut up. Last night, the idea of setting the radio as my alarm seemed ingenious—what better way to get me up and at ‘em as quickly as possible? Clearly, I didn’t account for the overly-enthusiastic host, which did more to chew at my nerves than motivate me to get out of bed.
I groaned and squinted at the sliver of light shining through my curtains. Mornings and Mondays are horrible enough by themselves—put them together and they’re basically a gift from Satan. I pushed myself up in bed, knowing that the longer I stayed there, the more likely it was that I’d fall asleep, and make the day worse than it already was. At this stage, there was only one thought on my mind.
Coffee.
I stumbled, half-blind and sluggish from the lingers of dreamland, out of my room and down the hall to the kitchen. I had to mentally track the process, for fear that any wander would result in broken ceramics on the floor.
Step one: grab mug. Check.
Step two: Fill with water. Check
Step three: pour into coffee maker. Check.
Step four: insert single-serve coffee grounds. Check.
Step five. I slammed my hand down on the “brew” button and leaned against the counter, waiting for the satisfying gurgle of God’s beverage being made.
What I heard instead was a moan, a hissing, and a pop as the machine sprayed water all over the counter, the mug…and myself.
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