The eldest child spends the night at home and emerges into the kitchen the next morning, looking disoriented. My wife teases him, remarking on his awakening. “Did you both consume every drop of alcohol in the house?” she asks. The middle child, engrossed in his laptop, responds, “Not everything. There’s still some vermouth.” The oldest child, standing in front of the new coffee machine, questions its operation.
Our eldest son moved out of the house over a year ago, so he missed the eventful experience of our old coffee machine shocking everyone. Consequently, we decided to replace it. I recall the feeling of returning home to unfamiliar improvements after moving out; it seemed as if they deliberately made upgrades after our departure to make us feel left out.
“You’ve never used this machine before, have you?” I inquire.
“Is it similar to the old one?” he asks.
“The concept is the same, but the procedure is quite different,” I explain.
Initially, I wanted to purchase an exact replica of the old coffee machine because I enjoyed the coffee it produced, despite the occasional electric shock. However, my wife managed to find a superior model at a lower price. Ironically, she doesn’t even drink coffee.
“First, locate the power button on the side,” I instruct.
“Got it,” he responds, pressing the button.
I continue, “The front light will flash red for a moment. When it turns into a steady blue, turn the dial to the left.”
“Okay,” he acknowledges. The light changes, and he adjusts the dial, activating the machine’s pump.
“After that, it’s all voice-activated,” I inform him. “Coffee machine STOP!”
The machine’s pump ceases its noise.
“Coffee machine START!” I command. The pump restarts, and espresso streams into the cup.
To provide some context, when we acquired the new coffee machine last May, I followed the instructions diligently: plugging it in, filling it with water and coffee, and placing a cup underneath. Upon pressing the side button, the machine emitted a loud, unpleasant sound. After a few seconds, it suddenly stopped, confusing me. Just as I reached for the instructions, it started up again. While the resulting coffee was acceptable, it didn’t match the quality of our old machine. At least I no longer risked electrical injury.
I soon discovered that the machine’s pausing pump mechanism was standard. Every time it was switched on, the pump would stop after four seconds and resume after another three.
I developed a habit of theatrically pointing at the machine every morning—first after counting silently to four, then after counting to three, resembling a magician’s flourish. One morning, the youngest sibling caught me in the act.
“What are you doing?” he queried.
“Nothing,” I replied. “Just controlling the coffee machine with the power of my mind.”
“Your timing is slightly off,” he observed.
“It’s a work in progress,” I joked.
Sometime in June, I realized that silent counting was insufficient. I had to rely on my instincts to determine the correct intervals. Some mornings, my timing was perfect, but I was alone. On other mornings, when there were onlookers, my pointing was embarrassingly out of sync.
“Who is this trick supposed to impress?” the middle child wondered.
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “The important thing is that I’m ready when the time comes.”
The idea of voice activation was a recent innovation, allowing more leeway in terms of timing. However, I had never attempted it in front of anyone until now.
As I resume my seat, I contemplate improving my technique. Perhaps I should use more official-sounding phrases like “SYSTEM OVERRIDE” and “RESUME FUNCTION.” Alternatively, I could revert to my pointing method.
While the oldest child waits for his cup to fill with coffee, the liquid gradually reaches the brim.
“Coffee machine STOP!” he shouts. However, the cup continues to fill. The middle child finally glances up from his laptop, exchanging glances with the oldest child before looking at me.
“Oh my God,” he exclaims. “I can’t believe someone actually fell for that.”
“This is undoubtedly the best day of my life,” I declare with joy.
“What’s going on?” my wife inquires.
The oldest child, even louder this time, shouts, “Coffee machine STOP!” Unfortunately, his command proves ineffective.
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