Every morning at 6.30am, something of profound importance happens in a brightly-lit room on the second floor.
A lady with glasses perched on her nose, concentrates intensely on the inner workings of an important machine. She tinkers, she turns, she frowns some more, looks stern, and opens and shuts things. Her make-up is always on point and she remains unflustered while the instrumentation is being completed, but make no mistake, her job is a vital one. It fuels the energy flowing through that entire floor, allows employees like yours truly to function without entering a comatose state of despair, makes complicated accounting make sense, and allows you to be a pro of the Mosaic Theory even without trying (you know, where you piece together bits of information to see the whole picture in one blinding moment of enlightenment).
So at 6.30am, every day, without fail, our instrumentologist perches on her toes, looks through her cats-eye frames at the machine, and looks askance at anyone who may venture into the second floor pantry at that sacred hour. For refilling the coffee machine with fresh coffee beans, ensuring the milk is foaming as it should and the blades that grind the arabica dark roast from Brazil are whirring as they should, is in all honesty, the most important job on that floor in my view. Keeps the rest of us ticking on like well-oiled clocks. And God forbid she doesn’t show up one morning, or the machine itself decides that there is such a thing as too much love and goes on strike behind an ominous red board, well on that day, I can guarantee that productivity dips by 48.5%. See what I did there? That accurate statistic was another coffee-driven moment of enlightenment.
My thanks to the instrumentologist, who knows her machine, understands the importance of coffee, and who, frankly, can glare at me all she wants when I try to cross the doorway before she’s done at 6.30am like an overeager puppy.