Egad! I’ve become one of those pansy-assed sissies that sip tea instead of coffee. It’s not even real tea. It’s herbal tea.
You can’t be a preacher in these parts and drink hot tea. If you want to relate to people, you have to be able to plunk yourself down at any time of the day and drink the gawdawfulest, caffeine laced, black coffee that has distilled on the burner all day until it has become a near solid.
They teach this in first year seminary.
I now know that I’m in full professional decline. First, I started adding cream and sweetener (in seminary, this would lower your average by one letter grade). Then I went to decaf which is the worst kind of hypocrisy.
To say it’s not my fault, to protest that caffeine now makes my heart race and my chest flutter—well it’s just sad. My colleagues shift uncomfortably and look at each other with sideward glances as they assure me that they don’t think any less of me.
But I know what they’re saying when I’m out of earshot. They’re saying that I brought it on myself, that it has to be my own fault.
But they’d be wrong, I protest. It could happen to any one of them, too. As Job once told his so called friends, “Look on me and be afraid!”
Next thing you know, I’ll have to give up fried chicken.
And that really hurts.