My idea for the perfect Coffee Table Book
With all due respect to Cosmos Kramer, I believe that I have the perfect idea for a Coffee Table book. (Warning: If I so much as see my idea in print after this article is published, I am gonna be all over it and throw every ounce of legal power I have toward...OK, whatever….)
Way back in 2010, I made a trip to Washington State with my parents and my now grown, "college-edumacated" nieces. I actually lived in Washington for a time “back in the day.” Bothell, to be exact. So, hey there to all you Bothell-onians! I can say “I lived there” a lot because my father was in the Coast Guard. So, as a military brat, I traveled back and forth, and back and forth every other year – Coast to Coast. I kind of thought later on “couldn’t dad have just work for one state’s forest service so we could go from border to border and truncate this process?” But then I would not have the memories of being herded around in a VW Bus in the brutal summer heat eating Deviled Ham while sitting on a hot bumper on the side of the freeway.
Anyway, on this particular trip in 2010, I came to the sudden realization that I LOVE coffee. Especially those served over ice or those frappe things with the whipped topping on top. As I really wasn't hearkening to a lot of the other stuff we were running around seeing because I had seen it all about 40 years earlier (apologies to my parents who paid for the trip, and with the exception of the Duck Boat ride--that was awesome!), I became enamored with the little mom and pop coffee huts strewn all over the place. Places like the Java Junkee, Monkey Poop Coffee Out Hut, Seattle’s Ridiculously-Priced Vente, etc. Bring it on! I bought a frappe at nearly every one I passed. It became somewhat of an embarrassment for the rest of my tour group…I mean, family.
I’m not much of a hot, black coffee drinker. I think it's because my mom drank SANKA when I was young; and that strong, odorous smell still brings back torturous memories nearly as debilitating as having my bangs taped down and cut with a pair of dressing shears until I was twelve until I finally got a real haircut at a “Salon.” After that cut I cried like a baby in the back of the family’s VW, bawling because my hair looked like Farah (as in Fawcett). But, give me a cold, smooth, frothy, coffee-flavored drink loaded with cream and occasionally drizzled with chocolate or caramel, and I am in!
So, I came up with this idea…road after corner after alleyway after vending cart got me to thinking about doing a coffee table book about coffee huts. I mean there are like a zillion of them around the state. Even people that live out in the middle of nowhere have a darn hut on the corner of their property in order for those pour souls who have to commute into the big city swing through and grab a java on the way. Genius!
So, I propose that someone bankroll me for just one year (terms somewhat negotiable, but probably to include several roles of industrial-strength duct tape, at least two bungee cords, and a couple of needed mechanical fixes to Alice the VW) to travel around the State with my hubby and two small dogs and we will stop at every single java hut in Washington, and try every frappe or ice coffee, and take pictures of each owner; and interview them for a little blurb about how they came up with the cutesy name for their hut; and what their inspiration was for going into the java hut business to begin with (besides the obvious); and ask them to predict the future trends for java huts to 2030; and we’ll compile it all in a coffee table book that people can use to prop up under the uneven leg of their coffee table. Thanks, Kramer.
Shalom,
Susan Ross
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