The Day My Brain Took a Coffee Break

It all began on a Tuesday, which is, as everyone knows, Monday wearing a cheap disguise. I woke up, shuffled to the kitchen, and pressed the coffee machine button like it was the launch key for a nuclear missile.

Nothing.

The machine hissed, wheezed, and emitted a noise that sounded like a gerbil trapped in a harmonica. No coffee. This was a problem—because my brain and I have an agreement: no coffee, no functioning.

Unfortunately, my brain didn’t just stop functioning. It decided to clock out entirely.

Hour 1: The Warning Signs

The first symptom was when I brushed my teeth with shaving cream. To be fair, it was mint-scented. My brain, probably still lounging in bed with a blanket burrito, mumbled, “Eh, close enough.”

Next, I tried to toast bread in the microwave. That’s when the smoke alarm went off, and I found myself apologizing to the toaster for “not giving it a chance to prove itself.”

Hour 2: Early Workplace Casualties

I still had to log in for work. My brain sent me the digital equivalent of a “do not disturb” sign. When I opened my laptop, I couldn’t remember my password. No problem, I thought—there’s a “forgot password” link. I clicked it, and the site sent me a code. I copied the code, pasted it into the email draft to my boss instead of the login field, and hit send.

She replied, “Why did you email me the number 847213?”

I answered, “Because… destiny?”

Hour 3: Conversations Go Wrong

A coworker called me to discuss a project deadline. My brain decided to just wing it.

Them: “So, we’re still on track for Thursday?”

Me: “Thursday is just Friday’s cousin, and I think we should respect that.”

Them: “…Are you okay?”

Me: “No, but at least I’m polite about it.”

Hour 4: The Grocery Store Incident

Around lunchtime, I realized I had no food. Grocery shopping seemed easy enough. I grabbed my wallet, walked into the store, and forgot entirely why I was there. Instead of food, I left with a package of paper clips, a scented candle called “Misty Lagoon,” and a single cucumber.

The cashier looked at me like I was a cooking show contestant who had misunderstood the challenge.

Hour 5: Coffee Intervention

When I got home, I attempted to make coffee again. My brain perked up slightly—maybe hope wasn’t dead. But the only coffee filter I had was being used as an impromptu bookmark in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

I stared at it for a solid five minutes, debating whether I wanted caffeine or closure for the protagonist. In the end, I tried using a paper towel as a filter. It worked… if by “worked” you mean producing something that tasted like a cup of regrets garnished with pulp.

Hour 6: Digital Disaster

Back at my desk, I attempted to type an important email to a client. I got halfway through and realized I had accidentally written the plot of Finding Nemo.

Worse, I sent it.

Even worse, the client replied: “Loved the story. Can we add a shark subplot to our marketing campaign?”

Hour 7: My Brain Returns

Just as I was about to call it a day and accept my fate as a functional potato, my coffee machine suddenly sputtered to life. I don’t know how—it might have just been mocking me—but it brewed the most beautiful, aromatic cup of salvation I’d ever smelled.

One sip, and I felt the neurons in my head flicker back on. Suddenly, I could remember my passwords, form coherent sentences, and differentiate between oral hygiene products and facial grooming supplies.

Aftermath

That evening, I reflected on the chaos. Maybe my brain hadn’t been lazy—it had been on strike. And like all strikes, it only ended when its demands were met. Those demands, apparently, included a functional coffee machine, a day of utter nonsense, and maybe a scented candle called “Misty Lagoon” for ambiance.

Lesson learned: you don’t realize how much you rely on your brain until it decides to take a coffee break without you. And next time, I’m keeping a backup jar of instant coffee… just in case my brain decides to unionize again.