My feet numb in my canvas shoes, I trudged through the snow to make amends for a wrong I had done…
For years, I had only put oat milk in my coffee. But that all changed when I got a certain roommate, the inimitable ghost of Steve Jobs.
One day, I had run out of oat milk and I really wanted some sort of milk in my coffee. I hated taking it black. I looked in the fridge and saw the bottle of coffee mate belonging to the ghost of Steve Jobs. Figuring that he would not notice, I put a dribble of the coffee mate in my coffee and, to my surprise, it blew me away.
It made my coffee taste like coffee ice-cream, it was so good. I had never liked the taste of coffee. I had just drunk it for energy. But now, I was actually enjoying it.
For about a week, I put the ghost of Steve Jobs’ coffee mate in my coffee and he didn’t seem to notice.
At the end of the bottle though, I did not put any in my coffee. I thought he’d notice that.
However, before the last dribble was gone, he bought another bottle of coffee mate.
While he was at work, I opened it and there was a seal underneath the lid. I didn’t want him to know I had used his coffee mate, but I really wanted to put some in my coffee. Throwing caution to the winds, I pulled off the seal, thinking he would maybe not care.
I drizzled the coffee mate in my coffee and I was glad I did because it was so fucking delicious when I brought it to my lips.
Later on, when Steve Jobs’ ghost came home from work, he made himself a cup of coffee in the Keurig. I was playing a game on my phone and didn’t notice what he was doing.
“Why is the coffee mate open?” said the ghost of Steve Jobs.
“Uh, I used it,” I said. “Sorry.” I played it nonchalant-like.
“Well,” said the ghost of Steve Jobs. “I really thought I could trust you, but it looks like I was wrong. Why would you touch my stuff? You’re a thief!”
I got up and sighed. I had been found out. It was time for damage-control.
“Look,” I said. “What if I bought you another bottle of coffee mate?”
“That would be a start,” said the ghost of Steve Jobs. “I’d prefer it if you bought your own.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll buy two coffee mates. One for me and one as a recompense to you.”
The ghost of Steve Jobs sighed. “That would be okay,” he said. “But I want you to walk to Walgreens and buy it right now.”
“But it’s snowing,” I said.
“I don’t care,” said the ghost of Steve Jobs. “If you don’t go get my coffee mate right now, I’m going to have to rethink our status as roommates.”
The ghost of Steve Jobs liked things a certain way. This was probably what made him such a good CEO when he was living. When everything went Steve Jobs’ way, iPhones were magicked into existence. But, as far as being a roommate to a man of leisure such as myself, his approach could probably do to be a bit more flexible.
“Well, okay then,” I said, remembering that I only had ten dollars in my bank account. “Two bottles of coffee mate coming right up!”
And that’s how I came to be walking through the snow to Walgreens.
The temperature was in the twenties. Texas, where I lived, had taken on the habit of having a big freeze in February.
After a long, cold fifteen minutes I made it to Walgreens. My feet were freezing. I couldn’t wait to get home and put on fuzzy socks.
When I walked down the refrigerator aisle, I looked for the coffee mate. I found it and what’s more there was a sale on it, which meant I could buy two and still have a few bucks for something else.
I looked through the frozen food aisle. Monster? No. A forty? No. Microwaveable macaroni and cheese? No.
But when I opened the last door, I found something truly remarkable that ignited an aurora borealis of shimmering fireworks in my mind.
Floating in a bottle of Dasani water was a tiny baby alligator. The baby alligator made me feel maternal feelings. I knew then that I had to possess this creature. Forget the coffee mate. That was earthly shit. This was spiritual.
I brought the Dasani water-bottle to the cashier.
“Hey,” I said to the cashier. “How much for this alligator?”
“Twenty dollars,” he said.
“Twenty dollars,” I said. “Shit, I only have ten.”
“Well,” said the cashier. “If you promise to take really good care of him, I can give him to you for ten.”
“I promise,” I said, nodding vigorously.
“Okay,” said the cashier. “I trust you. You have the eyes of an honest man.”
“Thank you,” I said. It was nice to be complimented on my eyes.
I put the coffee mate to one side and headed home in the snow. I held the Dasani water-bottle close to my breast and sent it telekinetic messages of maternal love. I have always thought that animals can read a person’s thoughts, even if they don’t react to them.
“Good news!” I said, walking through the door.
“What?” said the ghost of Steve Jobs.
“I bought this!” I said, showing him the alligator in the bottle. “This is our new pet and I’ve decided to call him Baby because he will be our baby, forever and ever, our special love!”
“Did you get the coffee mate?” said the ghost of Steve Jobs.
“No,” I said. “I thought you’d be happier to have Baby become part of our household.”
The ghost of Steve Jobs sighed. “You’re an idiot,” he said. He went back to his room and instead of opening the door, he passed through it like the ghost that he was.
What the ghost of Steve Jobs said hurt my feelings. Sure, in a previous emanation, he had been the CEO of Apple, which meant that most of the people in the world were idiots compared to him, but I myself was no slouch. When I took my standardized tests in elementary school, I had scored in the ninety-fifth percentile in reading and ninetieth percentile in math.
Feeling hurt, I kissed Baby’s bottle. When I kissed it he moved a little, which cheered me up and put the ghost of Steve Jobs out of my mind.
I plunked down on the couch with Baby. The Dasani water-bottle he lived in was cold to the touch. I set him down on the coffee table. Cold. I needed hot. I needed hot coffee. I went to the kitchen and made some.
When it finished brewing, I opened the fridge. I looked at my roommate’s coffee mate. l thought, I’ve already used the coffee mate, he’s already mad, why not?
I grabbed the coffee mate, poured a liberal dash into my coffee, and listened to loud, weird music on my iPhone in an attempt to damage the speakers because when a nearby iPhone’s speakers are damaged it makes the ghost of Steve Jobs’ body itch all over like he has hives and he cannot scratch because if he tries to his fingers go right through his translucent skin. I read some shit on Wikipedia that said it has to do with sound waves.
