Pun Stories by Lori: An Exciting Vacation Tale by a Coffee Fiend
I am not supposed to drink coffee, per my physician's orders, but I just can't seem to cut it out of my diet. I don't drink it on a daily basis and refuse to keep a coffee maker of any kind in my home, but I will drink it wherever it is being served because I love it so much. I always loved the Folgers coffee commercial where the son comes home on Christmas morning while everyone is still asleep. He goes to the kitchen with his little sister who heard him come home, and he goes about to make coffee - Folgers of course. They get a close up of him opening the can, then he and sister inhale the aroma deeply, then it shows the coffee brewing, pouring his first cup, and the rest of the family is wakened by its aroma. A heartwarming reunion ensues. The commercial makes my mouth and eyes water.
In honor of all coffee lovers everywhere, I have composed a short story with a coffee theme and written in pun form. I love puns, despite their corniness. I have found that coffee terminology is great fodder for puns. I hope you will enjoy it.
About eight o' clock in the morning I drove through Seattle's best, murky, streets on my way to the daily grind, passing the very dregs of society along the way. Let me tell you, these people were chock full o' nuts. It gave me a jolt when I pulled into the parking lot and saw my old friends, Juan Valdez, Peet, Tully, and Cuppa Joe (we never understood why his parents called him Cuppa, so we just called him Joe). All of them had their bags packed and ready to go. I could tell by the dirt on their shoes they'd been slogging through the morning mud on their way.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"To catch the airpot shuttle. We are going to Columbian. We will stay at my brother Maxwell's house," Juan said. "He and his friend, Señor Stevia, have invited us for a splenda vacation. I lived there for a short time as a child."
I knew in an instant the others would never blend in. They had never bean there before and because they lived in a rainy climate, I didn't think they were prepared to roast in the hot sun. So I asked them, "What did you pack?
"We packed a latte stuff," said Joe. He pointed to Peet and Tully. "Peet's suitcase is overflowing, as is Tully's."
"I packed light," Juan said. "I thermos of my stuff in my backpack."
"I meant what did you pack?" I replied.
"I packed my bermuda shots and tank tops," said Tully.
I noticed Juan looked stirrvous. "Juan, what's wrong? "
"I haven't bean to Columbian since I was a child. I am nervous leaving Americano, Señora. And I don't feel well. I think a bug is brewing."
"It might have come from that muddy water you waded in yesterday at work," said Tully. "Yuban doing too much of that on the job. Time to find a new millstone to grind."
"I thought I saw you foam at the mouth this morning," said Peet, looking concerned.
"Oh, Señor Peet, you must filter your words. I never espresso those kinds of things, even though it's truvia," said Juan.
"What are you guys doing for cash?" I asked.
"Not to worry," said Peet. "We have star bucks."
"Yes. We went to the money exchange and they gave us the highest quality bills from Columbian. They assured us they gave us their star bucks. The best of the best, you know."
"Sounds like a fair trade," I said.
On Their Way to the Airpot
"Columbian can be a dangerous place," I said. "Be careful not to get mugged."
"We'll be careful," said Joe. "Time to go to the shuttle station down the street. Full steam ahead, guys, just like folgers off to war."
When they were halfway down the block Tully turned around and cupped his hand to his mouth, "Goodbye, sugar, and don't worry about us. We'll be equal with the Columbians. Juan assures us they are more sweet and low, humble and kind than you might expect. We'll be fine."
It started to rain so I decided to catch up with them and give them a ride to the airpot. They were mo joppreciated. They threw their bags into the trunk, and we started off. My windshield wipers couldn't keep up with a sudden downpour. I happened to glance at the stash board.
"Drat! Almost out of gas!" I said. We stopped at a gas station and I filled the car with unleaded.
"Don't you use high octane?" asked Joe.
"Mocha the time I do," I replied, "but today the unleaded is cheapest."
We finally made it to the international airpot. A little girl sat on the floor at the ticket counter singing Chickory, chickory, chalk. There was a man from Java who dropped his suitcase and it opened wide when it hit the ground. His underwear spilled across the floor.
My friends got in line to pick up their tickets. Juan began to cough as he approached the ticket agent. Maybe a cold brewed in him after all.
"I'm sorry, sir," said the ticket agent, "but we must charge you a cough-fee before you board. If others get sick, we are liable."
The guys had only Columbian money. I had used my last few dollars for parking.
"We're out of Americano money," Juan told her.
"Well, you could charge it, gourmetbe we can give you a waiver."
"Oh please, honey," said Juan.
"Can you do that?" Joe asked her.
"I believe so," the agent said. "Here, pot your hand out and I'll give you the waiver."
Juan did and my friends headed to the security line so they could board the plane. I waved goodbye. As I was walking to the parking area the air smelled like rocket fuel. Just then, I saw their plane taking off overhead. It was still low enough that I could see the number of the plane - C8H10N402- and realized I'd seen it on the news a few days before. Something about the mechanics had to give it energy shots. Something was also wrong with one of the pods.
I prayed the plane would hold up for the trip. My heart was stirred with anxiety. Air travel is dangerous, you know. The pilots, plane builders, and mechanics are always in hot water over something. You have to build a plane with something stronger than stainless steel, after all. The passengers always bore the BUNNt of their mistakes. Oh well, no use pouring over such disturbing thoughts. I might get angry and start spouting off. Then I would have to apologize and decanter my nasty words.
Mail Call From Columbian
A week later I started getting letters from my friends and they gave me the scoop.
Juan wrote, "My brother Maxwell's house is beautiful. He and Señor Stevia are very gracious hosts. They took us to a little barista for a drink last night. I got a little tipsy. I'm sorry to vente, but Señor Joe is a doppio. He keeps wandering off and getting lost. Nonetheless, we are having a grande time. I miss Melitta daughter though."
Joe wrote, "I bought a cap-pacino for my head. It looks great."
Peet's letter said, "There are a lot of tourists from France in our area. The French press are always surrounding them for interviews. Sometimes they bug us, too. I always tell them to leave us alone or I'll have them arrested on grounds of harassment."
And finally, Tully's lengthy letter said, "Chai there, sweet tea pie. The people on the street here are always trying to milk us of our money. I try to be breve when they get aggressive, but sometimes I feel intimidated. We've been planning another, expensive trip for next year. We're going to pull out all the stops. We'll go to Vienna, Kenya, Sumatra, Guatemala, Kona, and Costa Rica. Then we'll tour the Irish, Turkish, European, Vietnamese, Ethiopian, and Greek nations. We will be catching the red-eye home on the 25th. The late hour will spare us the large crowds. It will be a straight shot to America. We'll spoon be home before you know it. Don't come and get us, we'll catch the shuttle. Why bother, right?"
I was so excited when the day of their arrival finally came. I decided to meet them at the airpot even though they said not to bother. They were coming in on an intercontinental flight.
I went to my car and discovered an empty gas tank. I figured someone siphoned my gas out. That kind of extraction is against the law. Then, on a hunch, I looked under the car in case there might be a slow drip from the gas tank and sure enough, there was. That was the last straw. My heart sanka and my spirits were tampered. I was crying now and wiped my nose on my sleeve.
I didn't want to be late so I asked my sexy, blonde, full-bodied, Swedish neighbor Gevalia to drive me to pick my friends up in her black and white car.
Fortunately, we made it a little early. While we were waiting we went to a coffee shop. Two pilots and a flight attendant were chatting. Our table was cramped right next to them. I could read their name tags. The flight attendant was Wand A. Dolce. One of the pilot's name was Macchi Oto. What a weird name. The other pilot was Dunkin. He was munching on a donut.
"I'd better get going," said Dunkin. "I have to leave for Arabica in a half hour. I need to do my preflight check."
"I need to get going, too," Wand A. said. "I am headed to San Francisco. From there I will take a two-day break and go to Carmel with Macchi Oto. It's beautiful this time of year."
"Are you guys having a romance?" Dunkin asked.
"We are," said Macchi. "Keep it under taps."
"Have a punderful drip," Dunkin said.
It was so crowded we decided to go to the nes cafe down where it was much roomier.
It wasn't long before we heard the announcement that my friends' flight had arrived. It was a sweet, syrupy reunion. Hugs and tears of joy. After collecting their luggage at the baggage claim, we hoppered into the car and went on our way to drop them all off. On the way, we passed a museum.
"What kind of museum was that?" Tully asked.
"For Peet's sake," said Joe. "You went there with me last year. It has a latte art in it."
"Oh, now I remember," Tully said.
We dropped the guys off at each of their homes. It was a very happy day.
And now this tale is at its end.
Let's call it a frappe.
© 2019 Lori Colbo