The End of the Cup

I love coffee. Unfortunately, coffee doesn't love me anymore.

I remember the days of when I worked in the Merivale Mall and the coffee franchise, Treats, moved into the spot across the mall from Black's Cameras, when Black's vacated that very spot to move into a larger space. I worked in the camera store and would pop across the hallway to grab a cup several times through the day.

Treats eventually moved out and The Second Cup moved in, and my consumption increased. The coffee was much better and I developed a pseudo-addiction to the Irish Cream flavoured selection.

When I left the camera store to work at the CIBC, just around the corner, near the main entrance to the mall, my consumption didn't change. In fact, it increased when I moved from a part-time position to full-time. Being one of the staff members who got into the branch an hour before opening, to power up the computers, open the safe, and unlock the boxes that held bank drafts, traveller's cheques, and cash.

I would stop at The Second Cup to grab a large cup of Irish Cream coffee before entering the bank. Not being a morning person, I needed the cup to wake me up. The person who opened the branch with me and who held the secondary combination that was required to start the computers and open the safe was also not a morning person, and we wouldn't say a word to one another throughout our routine. I would work on one end of the branch and the other person worked on the other end, and we would pass each other with no more than a grunt, at best, as we continued putting in our codes and combination numbers.

By the time we were done, my coffee would be empty and other employees would be coming into the branch. As soon as we had at least two other people with equal authority on site, my morning colleague and I would head to The Second Cup: me, for my... ahem... second cup; her, for her first.

I would grab a coffee on my morning break, at lunch, on my afternoon break, and just before we closed our doors for the day, to have one to drink while we balanced our tills, shut down the computers, and lock everything away.

By the time I left the branch for the day, I had consumed six large cups of coffee.

I did this five days a week for about four years.

Over the decades since my time at the bank, my coffee consumption has decreased dramatically, though there was rarely a day that I didn't have at least one cup of coffee. During our first year in Korea, DW and I found it hard to get a good cup of coffee, though we did find a few coffee shops that served okay coffee and there were vending machines that dispensed something that resembled coffee and was addictive.

I wrote about those machines in my novel.

In our second year in Korea, DW and I brought a French press, a mini-grinder, and several bags of coffee beans with us after a brief trip home. I'd have a couple of cups each day, at least.

For as long as DW and I have lived together, we've had coffee machines. I think her consumption increased when we started dating and these days, her consumption has surpassed mine.

At my current job, which I've held for nearly 17 years, I've always had access to coffee. I went from drinking four cups per day, to three cups, to about two when the pandemic hit and I started working from home. And even though I have an endless supply of coffee in the house, I'd start my workday with one large cup and quit there.

You see, I used to put sugar in my coffee but when I started gaining weight in the first months of the pandemic—probably due to consuming more beer and ordering in food more often—I decided to cut the sugar from my coffee. And I quickly learned that there was a problem.

After just one cup of coffee, my heart rate would increase, so much that my smart watch would tell me to take a break and relax, and I was only sitting at my desk!

It took me a while to realize that it was the coffee that was causing my heart to pound in my chest. As soon as I put two and two together, I took a break from drinking coffee. I would only have it on weekends and I would only have a small cup. But that didn't solve the fact that when I drank coffee, my heart would jump to as high as 120 beats per minute.

One morning, when DW and I went to a restaurant for a Sunday brunch, I had a coffee and, out of an old habit, I added sugar to my cup. And to my surprise, my heart didn't race after finishing my second cup.

I don't know why sugar made a difference, but it did.

I still limited my coffee consumption to weekends but when I had a cup, I'd put a bit of sugar in with it. However, that solution didn't last for long.

A few weeks ago, DW and I joined some friends for a brunch in Westboro and I had just one cup of coffee, with sugar. When we were finished, DW and I headed home to get some chores done.

But by the time we reached home, my heart was racing and my head ached, and I had to lie down. For the rest of the day, I felt jittery and my stomach was upset.

I blamed the coffee.

I love coffee. I really do. But for some reason, it no longer cares for me. I've decided to stop drinking it altogether. I've gone back to drinking tea, which is something that I did as a kid and young teen, when I lived at home with my parents and before I discovered the joy of coffee.

Except while in Korea. I drank a lot of tea in Korea.

Since then, my average resting heart rate has even dropped below what I previously had considered normal for me (about 80 or so bpm).

I miss coffee but I'll survive. I still enjoy the smell of it when DW makes herself a small pot each morning or runs herself a pod of Nespresso in the afternoon. But I won't miss how coffee made me feel.

Now, if I ever develop an adverse reaction to bacon, that's how it will end for me, my friends.