I know it sounds crazy. Why would a college student choose to embark on this educational endeavor without the hatchet, canteen, lighter, backpack, survival-kit-all-in-one that is coffee? But having never liked the taste of coffee or the feeling of losing four dollars a morning to the liquid addiction that is caffeine, I’ve chosen to live college life decaf, and I’m here to tell you about my experience.
I wander around between classes aimlessly without the guidance of the man or woman ahead of me in the coffee line to lead me conveyor-like to my next checkpoint: home, coffee shop, class, coffee refill, class, more coffee, home, make coffee. I feel lost without waiting for the barista to call my name.
I have only seen my name spelled correctly, not with the creativity of a barista scrawling in Sharpie on my cup. In coffee shops, Katies can be Katy or Cady or Kati on their cups, depending on the barista’s interpretation of their identity. Where will I get that kind of creative interpretation?
My laptop is bare without stickers that say, “But, first, coffee” or “It’s coffee time.” My empty hand wants for a cute tumbler to carry my coffee in, to leave condensation rings on desks in lecture halls.
I have no excuse to be grumpy. I cannot blame my furrowed brow and short, curt answers on a lack of a drug I’ve denied. I have to actually act pleasantly towards others or take responsibility for my poor attitude.
Don’t even get me started on finals week. I am physically unable to stay awake. I have fallen into a deep slumber on the T. Anne Cleary walkway, only to be saved from a concussion upon hitting the bricks by a visiting high school tour group catching me trust-fall style.
Please, do not choose the path I have chosen. I am in far too deep; you can save yourself. Get hooked on joe, java, coffee, whatever you want to name your drug. But do not live college decaf.