The Cup With No Bottom

By Jim Hagarty
2016

I hate moral dilemmas.

They are always so dilemmaish.

And they involve morals.

We have two McDonald`s restaurants in my town. Owned by the same people. They decided a few years ago to chase all the seniors away from the one in the south end to the older outlet in the east end. They accomplished this by offering coffee for less for seniors in the east. Seniors being seniors, we all trooped over there.

The price was $1.05 for a small cup, a full 50 cents off the regular price. And, to make the deal sweeter, you could go back for a free refill.

I live in the parking lot of the McDonald`s in the east end now. I never go inside the restaurant, preferring to wander through the drivethrough. I know all the servers at the windows and they know me. Many of them smile as I pull up, some don’t.

Yesterday, I got a shock and a half. The price for a senior’s coffee just went up by 30 cents. I pulled up to the window, truly stunned, and I saw a sign on the window announcing the momentous change. However, at the bottom of the notice it said, “Keep enjoying your bottomless cup.”

Now, I knew it was possible for me, after finishing my first cup, to drive back through the line and ask for a free refill. I have done that many times. Ask my waistline if you doubt me.

So I sat there in my asphalt living room under the shady trees at the back of the lot, trying to take in the enormity of what was happening. My $1.05 coffees were gone forever.

But the words, “bottomless cup” kept ricocheting through my mind. I wondered what “bottomless”, in this situation, might actually mean. More than one free refill, perhaps? Nah, couldn’t be. I left the parking lot and went on with my business.

But during the day, a plan formulated. I would buy my first cup of coffee in the early morning and then go bottomless for the rest of the day, as creepy as that might sound to you.

I decided to test my idea out.

I drove back to the restaurant just after lunch and paid the horrific price of $1.35 for another “senior’s” coffee. Then, instead of immediately going back for a refill, I left. I drove to two stores where I did some shopping. I wandered, in no big hurry.

Finally, over an hour later, I drove back through the drivethrough, nervously.

“Could I have a free refill of a senior’s coffee?” I asked the young man whose voice came over the speaker. It might have been my imagination, but he seemed to hesitate. Then told me to drive through.

So, I handed my cup to the woman at the second window and got my refill. Things were working out bottomlessly.

But it was when I went back four hours later, that the sweat really started to bead on my forehead. Did I have the nerve to actually ask for a free refill, four hours after I had had my last free refill? Well, did I?

I pulled up to the speaker, heart beating hard in my chest. This was it. I am not a good liar.

“Can I help you,” a young woman asked.

“Yes, can I have a free refill of a senior’s regular?”

Nothing. The staff had obviously been alerted and called to a special emergency meeting. It is rare that a police officer or two cannot be found lurking somewhere around the restaurant, though none qualify for a senior’s coffee.

Too late to change my mind. There were no other cars in the drivethrough. It was obvious the staff logs were being gone over. No one had driven through during the past half hour, asking for a senior’s coffee. Where in hell did this guy come from?

Oh man, I wished I was anywhere else but there at that moment. I was headed for the Big House.

“Sure, come on up,” said the young woman. I started driving, then realized I had to hand her a four-hour-old paper cup through the window. She is going to realize the little bit of coffee inside it is stone dead cold. I was afraid to extend my wrist in case a handcuff was clamped on it.

She smiled, as friendly as could be. Gave me my free refill. Even wished me a good day.

To recap, I spent $1.35 for one coffee almost five hours before and turned that one coffee into three. That amounts to 45 cents a cup. My mind filled up with possibilities as I sat in my asphalt living room under the shady tree.

Today, I try for four cups.

My joy is bottomless.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 72-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.