I blame that stupid civet coffee.
All I thought I was doing was telling my coworkers that I'd prefer to stick with my favorite coffee. And the one guy, who shall remain nameless, starts LAUGHING.
Let me start at the beginning. When I got to work on Tuesday, a couple of my coworkers were talking about that really expensive coffee that's reclaimed from some cat. It's horrible. Yes, after that cat has eaten the coffee beans. No, I'm not making this up. It's too dumb to be bullshit (as it were), sadly.
It's very costly coffee, wherever it comes from. There's maybe half a ton made every year going for $600/lb; that's in comparison to 2.6 million tons of ordinary coffee in a year from Brazil alone at around $3 to $6 per pound. When they started talking about who could afford to drink this crap, I mentioned that I'd not be tempted to give up the dark roast brewed up by the Beehive coffee shop on the South Side. And my apparently easily amused coworker starts cracking up, barely restraining himself.
Now, such a thing would make sense had I expressed interest, rather than disgust, at the idea of fiendishly expensive cat poop coffee. But there was something else going on. He wasn't even thinking about the aforementioned coffee, but rather the name of my favorite coffee shop, and those of you who often drive US-22 between Delmont and Blairsville may see the problem. I had forgotten that there are two 'Beehives' in the area.
Yes, his first thought was not the funky little neighborhood coffee shop caddy-corner from Starbucks on 14th and East Carson; but rather the, shall we say... 'erotic venue'... just east of Delmont that shares the name. The one that I've been informed is not really all that great, actually. My coworker certainly derived quite the afternoon of amusement by imagining me drinking coffee while surrounded by scantily-clad ladies. It's pretty funny, actually, if you're not imagining the place as an utter dump.
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