If you’ve already heard “Thank You for Approving of My Coffee” you may be wondering, “What the hell is this song actually about?”
And I get that.
Sure, you can probably follow that someone who made some excellent coffee is being thanked for it while feeling like they didn’t actually do much.
But there’s got to be much more to it than that, right?
Well, honestly, not really. 😆
But I’ll tell you anyway.
The year was 2005. I’d just recently returned to Phoenix after living in Los Angeles for college and a long string of internships and crappy jobs in entertainment while failing to make it as a screenwriter and/or rock star.
Now that I was back in town I’d been reconnecting with a bunch of friends from high school, attempting to fill the gaping void of losing my entire friend group in the move back. It was a pretty awkward time in my life where my desire to not sit at home alone all the time meant reaching out to people I hadn’t hung out with or even really spoken to in 4-5 years because that was the extent of my network. But I needed to find “my people.”
So I fired up MySpace, the only social platform that mattered at the time, and started cold-calling.
But people change quite a bit from fresh out of high school to their mid-twenties, so I never really knew what I was getting myself into when meeting up with a new old friend. My adventures would bring me to super sketch dive bars where I’d babysit blackout drunks while cougars hit on me; to expensive restaurants friends insisted they’d pay for because I was broke, but never mind, they lost their wallet; to inviting myself to a birthday party and not even showing up with a birthday card (this last one actually turned out all right though because I eventually married the Birthday Girl ❤️).
And so it was during this particularly ridiculous era that one afternoon I found myself with a friend whose family was having a party. I can’t exactly remember the occasion—it might have been a birthday or graduation—but there were about 20-30 people, many of whom had asked the hostess if she had any coffee.
“Well…” she timidly replied. “I do, but I don’t know how to make it.”
Met with a chorus of “Huh?” and “What do you mean?” from drowsy party animals, she clarified, “I mean, I know how to make enough for myself, but not for this many people.”
“Give it a shot,” somebody said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
She was terrified but resolute. “No.”
What is happening right now? I wondered, searching the dead silent room. Was no one going to help this poor woman out?
…Not even one of the many who asked for coffee in the first place?
In the immortal words of Jerry Seinfeld, Who? Are? These? People?
I slowly stood from the droopy couch I’d been sinking into.
“I got it. I’ll make the coffee.”
Which was met with a MUCH louder cheer than I anticipated. “JOHN!” they all screamed in unison like you do when you overuse the name of the rando you just met who showed up at your family gathering.
“John’s got it!”
“John’ll do it!”
“John! John! He’s our man! If he can’t do it, apparently no one else will!”
The Superman theme blared as I joined the hostess in the kitchen.
“What seems to be the trouble, ma’am?” (No, I didn’t really say this. I’m not an asshole. Well, not very often.)
“Thank you,” she whispered, handing me the coffee grounds.
Luckily, my whole life for the past few years had oddly been leading up to this moment. If there’s one thing I’d learned during my many years unpaid-interning in the film and music industries, it’s a skill that has absolutely nothing to do with film or music—it’s how to make coffee for a lot of people.
And I’m going to share my top secret pro tip with you now—the hack that has made me the illustrious coffee brewer I am today.
Are you ready?
Here it is…
(You might want to write this down.)
I follow the instructions on the coffee package.
And then I do math.
How much coffee? How much water? Multiply by however many people.
That’s it.
You too are now an expert. You’re welcome.
Package in hand, I got right to “work.” I found the recommended grounds-to-water ratio for that particular brew, did the math, and made it happen.
A few minutes later, once the coffee was served, I was met with what felt like an overwhelmingly excessive amount of praise for the concoction I’d “created”—almost to the point of it being a little creepy.
Mugs raised and the world sang.
“Great coffee, John!”
“Oh my gosh! This is SOOOOO delicious!”
“BEST. COFFEE. EVER.”
“Mmmmmmmm! John, you’re a lifesaver.”
Then one said, “It never comes out this good when I make it. How did you do it?”
The imaginary DJ in the corner threw in a record scratch.
All eyes suddenly fell on me.
“I…I just followed the directions on the package.”
The room erupted in dubious laughter.
“No way.”
“So modest!”
“All right then, keep your secrets.”
I looked to my friend who just shrugged.
Unsure what else to do, I poured myself a mug, sunk back into the couch, and took my first sip.
Huh. That’s actually pretty damn delicious.
——
Once I got home, I wrote the song in about 45 minutes.
And although I’ll probably never see any of those people ever again, one of the weirdest, most uncomfortable afternoons in one of the most awkward phases of my life lives on.
Thank you for approving of my coffee
It’s a skill
I’ve learned it well
And now we can initiate stimulating conversation