cuppa joe
I love coffee.
I mean, I really, really love coffee. My worship of the bean has really more to do with what it represents in my life right now than the actual enjoyment of the bittersweet liquor it yields. It’s a sort of touchstone to my old life, to the “outside world”. It’s my one Pianosa luxury. There are no indoor toilets here, only elaborate outhouses called “cadillacs.” There’s limited fresh food, only three beers a day, and you can’t wear your own clothes, only uniforms. But there is still coffee.
Back in 2003, when I first began deploying here, Pianosa was little more than a runway in the middle of the desert sand. The benevolent Royal Family had just leased these godforsaken arid acres to the US government for 99 years, and all that there’d been time to build was the runway, a row of aluminum quonset huts baking in the sun, and some shaded, guarded parking for the F-15s. But I gotta hand it to the USAF – they have their priorities straight. One of the first semi-permanent (there are very few permanent buildings here – mostly prefab shacks of aluminum and plastic) buildings to go in was the Green Beans Coffee Shop. Just walking distance from the flightline, this blissful caffeinated oasis dispenses lattes, macchiatos, frappes, and double-grande-half-caf-cap-with-sprinkles to legions of zipper-suited flyers on their way to a mission. At first, it was really just the trailer, but eventually they added a concrete pad in front, bought some teak tables and chairs, and then erected a sun shelter. Now there are patio plants and the tinkling grooves of Bhudda Bar playing over the outdoor speakers. It’s a little bit of home.
I visit the “Crack House” as the crew calls it pretty much daily. Most days, I stop by just before I fly. We come to the office, we get our pre-mission briefing, we pack up our mission materials, and then, JUST before we drive out to the plane, I stop off for my double macchiato. I know it destroys the whole Top Gun image to climb the plane’s ladder with a little paper cup in my hand, but damn it all, it makes me feel HUMAN.
It’s a joke on the crew now – Chief doesn’t fly without her coffee!! It’s become the high point of my day for reasons that I never would have expected. For that tiny amnesty of time, I stop being my rank and my skill qualification… and I’m a person again.
Raymond and Prem run the Crack House during the days. Every day. They’re from Nepal, here on a three-year job contract to sling coffee for G.I.’s. They get paid a fortune by Nepalese standards to steam my milk every day, most of which they send home. Prem’s wife is sick – she has cancer, and they can’t afford her regular treatments without his salary coming back. So until she’s in remission, he will work overseas. Raymond has four daughters. “I’ve been over-blessed!” he cries, beaming, when he shows of their photo. But he can’t afford to support four daughters through college on what he made in Nepal, so he peddles Chai Lattes. They’re amazing.
Whenever I think that I’ve been damned by the gods and the fates to an un-survivable spell at Pianosa, I think of them… and the perspective comes back. But the real treat is the amazing people that they are. They learned my name inside of a week, and every day they greet me with a smile and we make small talk. I tell them how my Dad is, and Raymond tells me the latest on his daughters, and Prem says his wife is well, thank you. They show me their newest pictures, we gossip about what the general likes for his coffee (skim double latte), and talk about the weather. I admire their carefully trained jasmine vines, and they complement me on how well I look that day.
For just a few moments, I get to feel like a normal person. The sailors who work for me only ever address me by my last name. Protocol demands that the Officers address me by my rank, as do I them. Raymond and Prem only know me by my first name. They have no idea what my rank is, nor do they care. To them, I’m just me. I love macchiatos, and sometimes when I want a treat, I adore a double espresso chai latte. I always walk away, not just with a cup of hot coffee, but with my belief in who I am independent of what I do intact.
