A Coffee Story

I wrote this story a while back. I've been meaning to post it for some time but haven't gotten around to it. It's rather long. 2 pages on Microsoft Word. You'll have to excuse all my misspells and punctuation errors. ;) I hope you enjoy it and tell me what you think! :)

Grounds for a Bet

By Willa Howard

Isaac K. Noodle, employer, employee, boss, reporter, maker, secretary, and owner of “The Daily Grind” pamphlet was on his way to a coffee shop. In his mind, he was the one who must inform the public with the real scoop behind things, to show them just how bad the things really were. Like butterflies, or ice cream. And this was why Noodle was now on his way to a coffee shop, to get the real scoop of information on coffee. He was a serious coffee despiser, just as he was a despiser of butterflies and ice cream. Never would Noodle be satisfied till he had written a paper on coffee for his criticizing pamphlet and published it.

The people, to whom The Daily Grind was sent and handed out to, listened little to Noodle. So far his papers hadn’t convicted them against such charming things as bugs and frozen milk. Unfortunately, Noodle knew none of this.

Isaac K. Noodle had reached the coffee shop, titled Zebedee’s Corner. And in truth it was a corner. Squished between an enormous printing store, and a banana juice warehouse, it looked like a small bug—or as Noodle liked to think—a butterfly about to be crushed by a two big boots. This would do, yes indeed. Noodle smiled inside himself.

On the inside it was quite cheerfully cool and the surfaces clean, though the door-frame could have used paint. Tables were spread willy-nilly in no special pattern, and the chairs were strewn about the floor, most of them not even at tables. Noodle observed all of this with a shrewd continence, as he walked up to the counter. Behind it sat a shorter, well built man in a cowboy hat, tall cowboy boots, with white poke-o-dotted shorts and a bright red shirt.  He had a handlebar mustache, and was staring out into space, not in the least showing any signs of having noticed Noodle.

“A-hem.”

The counterman didn’t stir.

Noodle coughed again, “A-hem.”

Nothing happened.

Noodle leaned over the counter into the man’s face, “A-HEM.”

Finally the counterman shook and gazed into Noodles face for the first time.

“Good day, Sir,” he smiled, “I hope you have not been waiting long?”

“Not at all,” Noodle grumbled,  readying his pen and paper to take notes.

“Can I get you anything, Sir?”

“NO, I simply need you to do something for me.”

“Of course, sir, of course. Anything, anything at all.”

“Good, then: convince me to drink coffee,” Noodle leaned forward once again, speaking firmly, as if daring the counterman to actually do it.

“What?!! Why wouldn’t you want to drink it?! It is joy juice, the greatest culinary, the fountain of youth, the very elixir of life!”

Noodle stared at him, unconvinced.

“Is that what you define it as?”

“Yes, my very own words,” the counterman beamed at him with an air of both confusion and pride.

“As I said: ‘convince me’. I was able to convince you to convince me to drink coffee, but you, sir, I am convinced, have done no such convincing, because, as you see, I am unconvinced. Try again.” Noodle waved him on.

The counterman seemed a bit unsure at this, but cleared his throat and spoke anyways. “Um, alright, sir, very well.”

“There’s a good gent,” coaxed Noodle. He already had jotted down several notes that would help him in his coffee destruction paper.

“Can I convince you in any way I like, sir?” asked the counterman slowly.

“Yes, I convince you, you may.”

“A very well, then,” said the counterman, “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot away, dear boy,” Noodle said from behind his notebook.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t have a gun. Could you lend me one?”

Noodle sputtered, “What? No! The question, you dork, the question.”

“Oohhh, I see—but wait, you asked me to shoot,” the counterman, (from now on let’s call him Rufus Dufus) blinked at Noodle bemusedly.

Noodle sighed and rested his hand on his forehead, “just ask your question.”

“Very well,” Rufus Dufus rocked back and forth on his cowboy boots happily, “here is my question: Why wouldn’t you drink coffee?”

“Because,” Noodle spat emphatically, “I despise the stuff, why else?”

“Some people can’t drink it because of their health,” Mr. Dufus said enlightening, “others can’t drink it because of caffeine, and others—“

“I see your point,” Noodle interrupted. “But, uh, go on trying to convince me.”

“Very well,” continued Rufus Dufus, “Here’s my second question: Have you ever tried it?”

“Why, of course I have,” Noodle glared at the man, then sighed, “Well, actually, no, I haven’t.”

“And why won’t you?”

“I never really thought of it before.” Noodle suddenly turned sharp and pointed a finger in Mr. Dufus’s face, “You still haven’t convinced me though, that I am convinced of, and I hope you are too!”

Rufus Dufus leaned back from the finger displayed in front of him, “I can see that, sir.”

“You know,” Noodle said, putting his hand back down at his side, “I don’t believe you can convince me to drink coffee.”

“Unfair, sir! Of course I can,” shot back Rufus Dufus.

“No you can’t.”

“Yes I can!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“Alright, fine. I’ll bet you a thousand pounds that you can’t convince me to drink coffee,” Noodle dared.

“Very well, sir,” Mr. Dufus agreed calmly.

“Good, good gent.”

“I’m glad to see you have stopped calling me a dork, sir,” Rufus Dufus said happily.

Noodle sighed, “a…no, you’re still a dork.”

“But you—“

“I don’t care what I said, thank you. You’re a dork, so there!”Noodle cried fiercely.

 “Very well, sir.”

Noodle sighed once again, leaning on the counter for support.

“Are you getting thirsty, sir?” Rufus Dufus asked.

“You know, I am,” Noodle admitted.

“Wait a moment, I’ll get you something, free of charge.” Rufus disappeared into the room behind the counter.

“Oh, thank you, how very nice,” Noodle smiled.

Rufus Dufus returned with a lidded cup and handed it to Isaac K. Noodle.

“Thank you,” Noodle put the cup to his lips and took a big gulp. “Mm, this is very good, what is it?”

“Red Tie, sir.”

“I seemed to have drained my cup, could I have some more?”

Rufus took his cup and refilled it.

Noodle drained his cup once more.

“More, sir?” Mr. Dufus asked.

“Oh, yes, splendid.”

Once it was refilled, Noodle drained it once again.

“I am convinced, sir, that I convinced you to drink coffee. I hope you are convinced, too.” Rufus bounced on his heels.

“What ho! Was that--?” Noodle threw his cup on the ground in sudden realization, and pointed accusingly at it.

“It was, sir, it was!”

“Hmm,” Noodle said, suddenly calm, “it was good. Here you go.” He pulled out his wallet and handed Rufus Dufus his thousand dollars.

The End

~The Scribbler in the Attic