Good Coffee Gone Bad.

My last few articles have clucked about some important life events: quitting a terrible job, running for president, and what I want for Christmas. While quitting my job created a mild stir, I got nothing I wanted for Christmas and I'm still not president. So I'm taking this bird back to its roots of clucking about more trivial, annoying things. Today, I bring you my cautionary tale of a coffee drink to avoid.

Like a young, normal chick, I went to a friend's party Saturday night. These days, my social plans consist of happy hours or "none." So when this party started after dark, I wanted a little energy boost for my drive. I chose coffee over beer for the cupholder, and begin my journey.


As I got in the car, I gently turned the can over and back again, since every drink these days says, "shake gently." Well, this drink said, "do not shake" in tiny letters that caught my eye once it was too late. Since the warning was minuscule and casual, I figured I'd give it a minute or two in my cup holder to sort itself out and be fine to drink. It wasn't.

A little pick-me-up.

I chose the opportune time to pop the can open as I pulled onto the highway. The Mt. Vesuvius of canned coffee erupted in Beyoncé (my car). I screamed and desperately tried to sip away the volcano of iced coffee. I thought the disaster would be over in a moment but it wasn't. I pulled over into the grass on the side of the on-ramp and chucked the stupid coffee into the cup holder. It kept going, turning the cup holders into brown lakes. While the demon can kept bubbling, I prayed that the explosion had spared my white shorts and Zayn tee; it didn't. I screamed. I cried. I asked the Lord why bad things happen to good people. He didn't really answer me, but the endless flow of coffee eventually stopped after a few minutes. Was that a 12 or 100 ounce can?! ...endless coffee for such a little can.

My cupholders and upholstery had far more coffee than my stomach did, and I couldn't just let Beyoncé fester overnight with coffee everywhere. I debated going home and crying all night, but I had a social event and this was my allotted fun for the weekend. So I carried on and drove down the highway 10 miles until I could stop at a gas station and clean up the mess with paper towels.

I fluttered into the gas station to find that their bathrooms had "gone green" and there were only air dryers in lieu of paper towels. Ready to explode just like the can of coffee, I stormed out of the bathroom to the soda fountain area and angrily ripped napkins out of the dispenser, one by one, and huffed back out to the parking lot. Fun fact: it takes a lot of gas station napkins to soak up cupholders full of coffee.

Once I cleaned Beyoncé, I looked to clean myself the best I could with gas station supplies. More napkins, water, and saliva would have to salvage my coffee-stained white shorts. At this point, I accepted the fate of appearance and just got back on the road. I had friends to see, Beyoncé was clean enough, and I had a new paranoia toward all future canned drinks.

You've nee warned. If you reach for a can of La Colombe iced coffee, don't touch it for 24 hours before opening.

Open with caution.