Coffee Cup of Distress

When I first became employed by the radio station, I found a large ceramic coffee mug, covered in dust, in the back of the cabinet. After asking who it belonged to, I learned it was the property of nobody.

That day, I declared myself ‘nobody’ and began using it every air shift. Hot coffee, hot tea, hot chocolate, it did not matter.

Then, last week, I went to get it and discovered the thing missing. The only thing left was the paper towel I had stuffed inside it after washing it, which was tossed in disgust to the back of the sink, behind the faucet.

Its absence caused me some distress. What became of it and why the distress remains a mystery because it was a mug purchased from Starbucks, and since I am not a fan of that Java empire, it should have been “Big whoop!”

But knowing it was gone, I returned to the cabinet and withdrew yet another mug, even dustier than the first, from the darkness. My new “borrowed” coffee cup is approximately the same size as the first, has a handle, and comes from Nevada State Bank.

Weirder still is that I got a tickle from that fact and had to laugh — because I’m a credit union member.