Heavy Duty Coffee Talk

I used to buy everything as overbuilt and indestructible as possible. It was either a nod to a potential zombie apocalypse or some genetic problem I acquired from my grandfather, who insisted that everything (including breakfast) be "heavy duty."

Fast forward a few years. Pack on some design study and common sense.

I have grudgingly accepted that not everything must be bomb-proof. My briefcase doesn't need nylon webbing that can hold 400 lbs of load. Those "Sherman tank-esque" cell phone cases are blocky and print when you wear a properly fitting suit. My iPad does not need literal plate mail to make the trip from the living room to the bedroom.

Impenetrable armor can, in most instances, be replaced with lighter materials, greater care, and good placement strategy.

The one area (okay, maybe two if you count climbing ropes) where my heavy-duty obsession remains is watches. I have some nice ones that I wear with suits. I appreciate their craftsmanship, but honestly wear them simply because it is appropriate to do so. Like ties, they are one of those utterly uninteresting "life ornaments" I just have to deal with as a grown-up.

The watches that speak to me are those clunky Casio G-shocks that can survive conditions on Jupiter. Oh, I know they're as ugly (if not uglier) than sin, but I take this childlike reassurance in knowing that even if I got thrown in a volcano, there'd still be a personal effect you could use to identify me. (Granted, the volcano scenario seems extremely unlikely unless I abandon lawyering to take up a career as a superspy a geologist-- perhaps both? -- but I still like to be prepared.)

I meditated upon this bizarre fixation at Starbucks with a friend. I wondered if I had suffered the destruction of some beloved personal item as a child, or perhaps been late for some life-altering event. Unfortunately, no such destruction or events came to mind. My friend (with her excellent deadpan) came up with an explanation that, while not particularly romantic or glamorous, is nonetheless accurate:

"You stick your hand in a bunch of weird stuff."

I protested, of course. (We were in public.)

So she proceeded to run through the long list of weird stuff I've stuck my hand in over the years (still in public).

It is both enlightening and unnerving to have friends that can, at the drop of the hat, produce random and obscure facts about you that you yourself did not necessarily realize. I feel like all friendships would be notably improved by having such ready access to such random facts and statistics. ("You're really going to order a vente gingerbread latte for the 439th time in your life?")

Having listened to her list (along with the rest of Starbucks), I had to grudgingly concede that she was probably right.