In Praise of the Lowly Cafe' Con Leche from Wawa

Let's just agree: A good cup of coffee can make the difference between a completely crappy day and a day that screams "I'm ready for the *world*! Come at me!" 

I had one of *those* coffees this morning, expertly devised by an unknown chef at my local Wawa. For those uninitiated in the ways of Southern America, this line of stores aspires to be the Dolce & Gabbana of 7-11's while maintaining small-town Southern charm. They stock fresh-baked pretzels that are divine, artisanal sandwiches like panini made-to-order, and sub-sandwiches on par with Firehouse and Jimmy John's. In short, they aspire to rise above just being a Quicky Mart, and better than major fast food.

I digress! Back to the inspired apple of my morning, Wawa's quiet little 16oz Cafe' Con Leche: 

Made of deep, dark espresso, brown sugar cane syrup and milk, it is frothed together into a symphony of flavors that rival the hum-drum cappuccino! 

For those who desire the rich, round flavors of Turkish coffee - Those unafraid to drink a brew that will be sure to bite back, the Cafe' Con Leche delivers, but with an unexpected twist: *It's so smooth!* Rather than gripping your tongue and wrenching at your teeth, this beverage *dances* on your taste buds, fills your oral cavity with mother's milk, and glides hot down the throat in what can only be described as oral extacy. 

Wawa stores may vary, so shop wisely. Test your local chef before deciding upon this drink of the Gods. Some make it well, others merely toss the ingredients in a cup and serve it. They key to it is in the sugar, milk, and frothing- too much and you have a frothy mess, too little, and it's flat. Just the right touch is needed to meld the flavors just so! Try getting this *late on a weekday morning*. The best chefs always work to feed the discerning office crowds, and are thus the most skilled. When you sample your first well-made Cafe' con Leche, you'll thank me! 

There's love in a cup of Cafe' con Leche. It's not just coffee and milk. It's a divine elixir. Thanks, Wawa.

 

After The Spike

 I'm laying on my bed in my silent bedroom, listening to the dog as she cleans herself as though she is a huge cat. 

It's Sunday, God's day of rest. My Urgent Care has forced all of us to take this day off because of lost, sick personnel. In this way they can concentrate the workers that are somewhat healthy to work on the days that we are open. 

The spike in Florida has deflated. In my own county, it's leaking air slowly. Less and less patients arrive, but the ones we see are sicker. Three or four in one day were transferred to the ER, and my happiness over the new antiviral has waned. It will be Christmas before it will be available. Thousands in Florida will die before it's here. Sure, there are monoclonal antibodies, but those will no longer be plentiful thanks to rationing. It doesn't matter, though, if people keep deluding themselves into thinking they've just got a bad cold. They wait too long - anything over a week could render the antibodies useless. 

I'm sad now. Not because the spike is over, but because the media is only interested in spreading stories about how low the numbers are going. It's last year all over again. Reading my accounts here from that year are telling. I kept warning and warning about the variants. Nobody paid attention, and here we are on the back end of a spike, already grinning about a healthy November. My quotes from patients "I sat between two positive people at the Thanksgiving table!" will be ringing in my ears soon enough. 

The people of the US (and Florida in particular) spent 2 years of  ignoring safety guidelines. The CDC made a tremendous mistake by saying that vaccinated people could go without masks. Nobody wants to do the right thing. 

We'll see another variant soon. It's inevitable. As Delta dies out, another will take its place. I'm almost entirely exhausted by it. 

My rent went up four months ago, from the $1200 that I couldn't afford to $1400. My credit has taken a bashing. I owe about $2000 in credit and loans. I'm done with surviving. I want to thrive. 

I'm going to try to get by as a contact tracer. I'm also resolved to take up writing, though I haven't a lot of time. I give myself a month before things go bonkers. I have to sell anything I can to hold onto this place. 

My landlord also discovered that I have a dog, so I have to tread lightly. Not sure. 

I need a change. I need something. My heart is weary, my spirits down, my rent and electric are due. I'm sad. 

Bored and Broke

 Sometimes I wonder...Why am I broke? I don't spend lavishly. I try to pay my bills. My credit is good. And yet, my paycheck never covers all of it. My rent's too high, but I cannot afford to move unless I find a good house in good area with a low rent. I'm tired of being broke. 

Fun news: someone bought my book again. $2.10 in the bank. I think I need to write more books. It was hard, but...If I wrote 250 books, and someone bought 1 of each every month, that could be $500 in my pocket. And that would help pay the rent. Yup. Time to get crackin'. 

Dawn of The Variants

 I find myself between a clinic and several variants. What to do? There's not a single vaccine appointment left in Florida. I face a daunting task: keep working unvaccinated, or catch it and die. Not the best outlook, considering that Florida now has 500 confirmed British variant cases. 

The DOH in FL tests one of every 450 cases. Soooo...Let's take a wild guess. Multiply 450 times 500 and what do you get? 255,000 cases. And that's the high end. The possibility that there could be even half of that running around Florida is mind-boggling. 100,000 cases could each infect up to 6 people. So now you're looking at 600,000...and they could infect 6 more. Each day it gets worse. 

I've done the math. By the first week of March we'll be seeing a spike arise from this like no other. It's going to get bad. By March 15, when unemployment for Floridians is due to run out, we'll be in the thick of it. Coincidentally, the new stimulus check should be sent out by then. $1400 that everyone needs...right in time to see mass mayhem erupt. 

I'm already planning to pay down my credit cards, pay off my loans, and maybe buy a new bike. What I really need is carpeting for my house...two new doors,...and a new phone. But those may have to wait.

At least I know that my manager has my back. When she asked about last year I spake the truth: I hated it. I was the crabbiest, meanest, cranky bitch. She was amazed. "Well," she said, "That's refreshing! The unvarnished truth!" She acted as though everyone else in the place had been lying their teeth off, and I'll bet they had. She gave me a 27 cent an hour raise. That brings me .27 cents above Biden's projected minimum wage. Some economist website said that if the minimum wage had kept up properly with inflation, it'd be $24 an hour. Yup. That's what I made at Globix in 1999. Screwed up. 

As you can see I'm pretty befuddled. I don't know what to make of the face of mortality that's staring me down. I guess I'll just have to muddle on.