Sad Woman, Happy Coffee

First, the coffee maker died.
Then the replacement died.
Then the replacement’s replacement died.

Then I found myself halfway inside a dumpster bin at dawn, in pajamas, trying to locate a broken machine while questioning every decision that got me there.

This is why people snap.

When our old coffeepot finally gave up the ghost, I was secretly thrilled. I don’t have a ton of counter space, and I hate clutter. Hate. It.

Having both a clunky drip pot and an ancient Keurig crammed together into the same tiny kitchen corner drove me nuts. Finally, I had an excuse to upgrade to the Keurig Duo, the one with both a carafe and a single-cup option.

My husband, a staunch 'pot-o'-joe' man, argued against it for months, with the unfathomably illogical reason of "We didn't need it."

But when his beloved machine eventually conked out, he reluctantly agreed. Ever the economist, he insisted that we carefully pack up my still-working Keurig "just in case."

I was delighted. We broke it in with our Thanksgiving houseguests, but by February, it was dead. I did the cleaning and tried all the necessary steps to fix it, but no bueno.

We pulled out that backup Keurig, only to find it, too, had inexplicably somehow joined its deceased brethren.

At that point, I knew that I needed a machine that actually worked, and I was gonna be stuck drinking my husband's crappy coffee until I did.

So I found a sleek little machine that seemed reliable enough (and vaguely familiar), and as a treat, picked up some Happy Coffee.

I'd seen the brand on Instagram, and its emphasis on ethical sourcing and mental health advocacy caught my attention. I loved that their vibe supported causes I care about.

My family teased me that I'd only bought it because of the RDJ connection. (Fair.)

Either way, it felt like a win. A silly little story about survival and balance practically wrote itself that night.

Anyway.

That evening, I went home, set up the new machine, placed that cute little canister in front of The Balkan Storm's enormous metal can o' budget (which I was not doing well on), and programmed the next morning's brew.

An hour later, at 9 pm, he came upstairs to bed and casually said, “You know there’s a fresh full pot of coffee downstairs?”

Guuhhhh.
Thanks to my lack of Sumatra, I was as sharp as a potato.

No biggie, I’ll just heat it up in the morning, I thought.
I know, gross, but I was trying to be economical here.

Well.

The next morning, I stumbled downstairs and nuked my overnight cup of Happy, channelling that scrappy, waste-nothing spirit of my depression-era grandparents.

It was…not great. But I thought, hey, it’s been in a pot all night, so of course it’s gonna be off.

So I made a fresh pot, reminding myself that there are much better ways to save money than drinking seven-hour-old coffee.

It was delicious. Surprisingly smooth and well-balanced.

Not strong enough to replace my 'punch-in-the-face' Sumatra, but that's okay. I still supported a good cause with my trial purchase.

But if Happy ever releases a “Caffeinated AF” blend, I'll switch brands without question.

Moving on...

Keurig finally sent the replacement machine, but it also died just as quickly as the first one had. No worky, no coffee.

At this point, I was getting twitchy. I’ve defended Keurig to my husband for ages, and this was the fourth machine in about as many years.

I was done. Did the whole ‘dramatic toss into the dumpster’ bit and messaged Keurig again. (still under warranty, for the record).

After much back-and-forth, they stuck to their replacement-only policy (which, c’mon, would you want a third machine after all that? I wanted a refund; those things are a little pricey).

Amazon issued the actual refund (when they didn't have to, so kudos), but not before informing me that it wouldn’t happen unless I returned the machine. 

Which was now buried under a week's worth of the trash of five people.   

Did I mention I hadn’t had my required amount of caffeination in a while? Because that feels like an important detail.

So that’s how I ended up half upside down in a dumpster bin, trying to retrieve a dead machine to exchange for hard-won restitution.

Later, my husband asked me why I didn’t just tip the bin over onto the lawn and fish out what I needed.

Sir.

Zero Sumatra. I was plagued with the dumb.

I eventually bought a different, much smaller Keurig; my need for instant caffeination supersedes my ability to hold a grudge.

No, I’m not proud.

And yes, I know it’s just coffee. And it’s just a machine.
But it never is, is it?
It’s really the last straw (or was in my mind, at least).

When everything else in your life feels precarious: plans, people, legal stuff, even your own patience, you wholly rely on whatever still works to get you through it.

And when that fails, it's beyond annoying. It feels like a betrayal. (Dramatic, yes. But not untrue.)

Because the thing that was supposed to get you through all the other things...just joined the list of things you have to get through.

It’s a reminder that you’re one cup away from teetering upside down in a dumpster bin, swearing a blue streak in your pajamas in front of your neighbor's Ring cam (sorry about that, Janice).

When everything else feels unpredictable, you just want one thing, one small, stupid thing, to go right.

Even if it's just the coffee.

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Oh, and that "sleek little number" I picked out to replace everything?
In my fog, I re-purchased the exact same machine we had before.

The one I was so glad had died and thought I was upgrading from. It turns out that my husband, loyalist to both drip pots and budget coffee, was right all along.

I’ll never say it out loud. But he knows.
And that’s too much power for one man to have over me.

So now, we're back to two coffee makers again, now sitting on boughie little pull-out trays.

He’s got his budget brew, and I’ve got my Keurig and an unopened bag of Sumatra stored away, ready to go if I need it in a pinch. Forewarned is forearmed and all that.

So here we are, back where we started. It's almost poetic, isn't it?
A sort of divine comedy with a slightly better perspective going forward.

And a husband who's never going to let me forget he was right on this one.
Damn it.

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Next Reads

• This is the weird cousin to I’m Not Starting a Food Cult, I Swear.
• If you like humor as resistance, pair it with Don’t Let the Bastards Win.
• For the deeper survival arc, see Beautiful Lies.

Heather P. is an essayist and longtime ghostwriter publishing darkly funny, brutally honest stories about trauma, resilience, and healing.

Her platform, Unfinished Business, has been read in over 30 countries for its dark humor, emotional precision, and raw essays on reinvention, grief, and the absurdity of real life.