Razzed by the Coffeeman

It was a cool Saturday morning in Indianapolis, and Jess and I were waiting in line for free (or rather prepaid) coffee during the break between speakers. The Renevare Conference, headlining Richard Foster, was held in a spacious First Church of the Nazarene building, tucked a few hundred feet away from the roaring highway.

Up til then, the speakers were great, the music was nice, and for the most part, the coffee was good (good creamer too), but then there was the coffeeman. Our first glimpse of the coffeeman was through the steam of the espresso machine. A name tag dangled from his white polo. I forget what it said, but if forced to guess, I'd say his name was Burt, or something of the like, something punchy.

Burt was hard at work, mixing up this drink and that, performing coffee miracles behind the makeshift coffee bar. He acted eager to please, but something stiff remained in his features. His smile could easily be confused for a wince. It looked painful, like it tore tendons. I couldn't quite put my finger on his hair color, either. His hair looked simply like the blond had been sandblasted out, and with the surfacing gray and poor lighting, it reminded me more of, well, the color of seaweed.

Burt's age could have landed anywhere between thirty and fifty - in this area I was stumped - and his sharp elbows and dangly frame called up the image of an Oklahoma cotton farmer during the deep depression. Indeed, something about him exuded a beaten down quality, but upon deeper inspection, a noticeable spark played in his eyes. Or was that red irritation due to the steam of the espresso machine? Either way, the spark told a story, a story that said, I'm sick and tired of people's crap. A story that said, I'm good for a fight. A story that said, that's Mr. Burt to you, and I'm about to rise up on society and claim my dignity.

Had we only known.


The question came innocent enough. Jess was just making conversation as usual as Burt busied himself with the ritual of creating a Chai Tea, wincing and steaming, wincing and steaming. Jess noticed a business card propped up on top of the espresso machine, and so she asked, "Is that your business card?" With a smile like a rubberband stretched past its breaking point, Burt handed Jess her Chai Tea and the business card. Jess studied the near-white card, and since we happened to be in a church lobby, she thought it safe to ask, "Are you a Christian company?" She thought wrong.

This was the straw that broke the camel's back. Immediately, Burt worked himself into a froth, punching us with questions. Drilling us wildly with philosophical arguments. Demanding definitions. "Do you mean am I a sinner?" asked Burt. And before Jess could clear up the miscommunication by explaining that, no, what she meant was, is your company a registered Christian company? Burt fired off another round of questions that all began with "Let me ask you this..."

"Let me ask you this...who is a sinner?" This question was directed at me. For a moment, unsure of Burt's motives, I thought that it all might be for sport. He was so sure, so confident, so quick, but his delivery borderlined the emotion of a professor teaching with his pants on fire.

Up for the challenge, I found a pause in conversation long enough for me to state, "Well, everyone's a sinner." Classic textbook answer, right professor?

At this, his eyes went up, searching his mind as if for a script. Then his eyes fell back on us, and Burt restated the question, "No, wait, I mean, what is the definition of a sinner?"

Catching on to his little game now, I shot back, "What's the definition of a Christian?" I stood fully ready to give him my thoughts on the matter, seeing things had turned theological. But Burt wasn't having it. He hit us hard, answering questions with questions, and before you knew it, Jess and I were utterly confused. We gave up and fled for shelter behind the doughnut table. We were under verbal attack. In the background Burt's badgering questions could still be heard over the murmur of the crowd. Then, as quickly as the attacks came, they had died out. Jess and I took a breath. Luckily, no one had been hurt.

After this, Jess and I agreed that we were good on coffee for a while.