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Where's the Coffee?

     The toast had been buttered, the morning news was Trumping and analyzing, the chair was in position by the fireplace, the dog had been fed and watered and the coffee had perked, or whatever you call it that Keurig coffeemakers do. I put my warm, freshly buttered raisin bread toast on a napkin and reached over to the Keurig for my coffee mug.

     It wasn't there. I got a handful of air. I looked at the Keurig. The little platform where the cup sits to catch the coffee flow was empty. But I heard the Keurig making that inimitable swooshing noise it makes when the coffee's coming out. I scurried over to grab a cup to catch the last liquid stream but before I got there the Keurig gave one last swoosh and settled back on its haunches. It had done its job. But where was the coffee?

     It all started when I got up this morning and decided to change my morning routine. Just a little—to give me a few more minutes of quiet coffee time before Paul needed help getting up for the day. I would start my coffee and toast before I opened the blinds, shut off the outdoor night lights, turned on the TV to the morning news channel and opened the garage door for Christy's little gray Shih Tsu, Rocco, to go outside. Usually I do all that stuff first. This way my toast and coffee would be ready when I finished with all that. Good thinking. I patted myself on the back—as best as anyone can pat themselves on their own back. It only took me ten minutes.

     According to plan, I hurried into the kitchen, put the coffee pod in the Keurig, made sure there was enough water in the tank, pressed the "on" button and then the "make coffee" button, popped a slice of raisin toast in the toaster before I went to open the blinds and do all that other stuff. You might notice something missing here… I didn't.

     My new plan worked really well. Just as I finished with the other stuff, I heard the "pop" of the toaster and the last swoosh of the coffee filling my cup. I buttered my now-golden toast and reached for the coffee cup.

     Like I said, I got a handful of air. Huh? I'd heard the Keurig dispensing the coffee. I saw the brew button flash its last flash. But there was no cup and no coffee. Where was the coffee? I felt the dark granite counter, expecting to get my hands soaked, since the coffee didn't go into the cup that wasn't there, but the counter was dry. I looked all around.

     Where was the coffee? For one out-of-body moment, I thought maybe the Keurig was a really smart coffeemaker and had hidden eyes and wouldn't let the coffee out if there was no cup to catch it. You never know, with all this new technology. I decided not to check it out.

     Instead I reached for a new coffee pod and put a cup on the platform, which was, hmm. . . a bit damp. Beneath the platform is a small reservoir to catch drips if the coffee overflows. I slid back the tray at the top of the platform and—there it was! My coffee! All of it! Without the cup.

     So this is what I learned from changing my morning routine—in case you're thinking of changing yours: the drainage tray on a Keurig holds exactly 11 ounces of coffee without spilling over.

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