Oh Keurig, My Keurig!
I know how to make coffee by putting coffee beans in a white gym sock, beating the sock with a hammer, and then boiling the sock full of crushed beans in a pot of water.
We do not do this because we are middle-class people. We own a Keurig coffee maker. We can't imagine living without a Keurig any more than we can imagine living without a quesadilla maker. Of course, no one ever uses their quesadilla maker, which you buy in the first two years of your marriage, before you realize how much frozen pizza you're going to eat in the next 10 years.
We use our Keurig every day, and it broke Sunday night. Our quesadilla maker, on the other hand, will never wear out.
The Keurig, however, broke.
We make four cups of coffee every morning. We drink one apiece at home, and I take the other two to work in my travel mug, another thing that must be owned by all middle-class people. Owning a travel mug is a sign that you plan ahead. People who don't have travel mugs are likely to be poor, and they're poor because they don't plan ahead. This is true even if the minimum wage is $8 an hour in their state.
Since we're white middle-class Americans with three college degrees between us, and a pristine quesadilla maker, my wife, Deborah, and I were completely and totally shattered by the loss of our Keurig.
We have an insanely complex "pour-over" coffee maker at home, but you have to put coffee filters in it, and it doesn't accept pods of flavored coffee. What are we, animals?
We compromised. We used the pour-over rig to make two cups of coffee at home, and I went to work without a travel mug full of coffee.
I was sad leaving the house without coffee, and my wife, whose name is known to the angels, felt sad watching me leave the house without coffee.