My name is Rifleman and I am an addict.
There, I said it. I finally admitted that I have a substance “use” problem (I’m not quite ready to admit that it’s “abuse” even though I have to do it at least twice a day).
Some people, to paraphrase the late Bradley Nowell (and, ultimately, Michael and Chris Kay of The Toyes), smoke two joints in the morning and smoke two joints in the evening and may even smoke a couple in the afternoon to make them feel all right. I, on the other hand, drink a cup of coffee in the morning, drink a cup in the evening and occasionally even have one in the afternoon to make me feel alert and jittery.
The funny thing is, I didn’t learn this from watching my parents–they didn’t drink coffee. I didn’t start until a couple of years into college. And even then, I couldn’t stand straight coffee…I was a wuss and had to have it flavored. So Sweet Eugene’s in College Station got a lot of my hard-earned (or given to me by the government thanks to education grants) cash for delicious Snickers lattes (which, upon my last visit to College Station, were not nearly as tasty as I remembered).
So, almost every morning, I get up, get dressed and head out to work, with a stop at Dunkin’ Donuts (so much better than the swill that Starbucks calls coffee) for a cuppa.
And, without fail, I get there almost every day after this guy and his two kids. And these are the most indecisive fucks ever.
They always order a dozen donuts to split amongst themselves (dad’s totally setting up his kids for a life of obesity) and three drinks (do your school-aged kids really need coffee?).
But the thing is, they can never decide what types of donuts to get. They go through all the permutations, exasperating the guy behind the counter. And me. And everyone else in line.
Five minutes. I timed it. That’s how long it took them this morning to decide what kind of sugary fried bread to get.
We’re in a hurry, back here. Gotta get to work. Get the day started. Need caffeine to live. Settle on a selection of donuts and get it every day. Don’t let your kids hem and haw…you’re their dad..put your foot down and say “We’re getting a dozen glazed, you little shits”.
Some of us have addictions to feed.