The Crafted Kup

Photo Courtesy of Vassar College.

The Crafted Kup

Vassar College - Poughkeepsie, NY

Guest Blogger: Adam Spiegelman

           My discovery of the Crafted Kup was not merely by choice but by necessity. It was the morning after the first Mug Night of the year and I woke wrapped in the sweet scent of vodka and some unremembered number of cigarettes. My phone said it was 7:50 but I refused to believe it. Across the room I could make out the silhouette of my roommate in blissful slumber. I closed my eyes and adjusted the covers to no avail. I was wide awake and had nowhere to go. I ran through the brief list of places I knew on and off campus that might be open at 8 am on a Saturday morning but came up empty handed. Frantically I opened Google Maps, typed in “coffee shops” and, without fail, a little red pin labeled ‘The Crafted Kup’ appeared a few blocks down Raymond Avenue. Grabbing my stupid Metropolitan Museum Store Balthus tote bag, a nearly empty pack of cigarettes, and my wallet I wrenched on the nearest pair of pants and strutted out of my room.

Stepping out into the grey haze of Poughkeepsie mornings in early September, my not-sober-ness hit me hard. I stumbled embarrassingly across the deserted quad, burning a hole in my sleeve accidentally, and struggling to keep erect. In the moment, I attributed it merely to exhaustion—I have never been a morning person—but as I would soon discover, that was hardly the case. I made it to the Cup just as it opened and, thankfully, there were few other older patrons inside to witness my intoxicated tomfoolery. I squinted up at the menu, ordered a cappuccino, and plopped myself down in the nearest velvet armchair. Before I had the chance to relax, however, my nausea blindsided me, I strode with self-conscious calmness to the restroom in back, and promptly vomited. I sat on the toilet and peed to justify the journey to myself, Instagrammed a selfie in the bizarrely cracked mirror, and, on cue, vomited again. Returning to my seat, I took a few sips of coffee, rested my head on the table, and lay there in defeat for what felt like half an hour but was, in reality, probably no more than five minutes. At that point I tried to take another sip of coffee and wretched. I looked around and could’ve sworn someone had snickered. In my mind nonexistent gifs of my parents shaking their heads and rolling their eyes in disappointment were playing in a loop and I knew it was time to go.

Trying to draw as little attention to myself as possible, I poured out my coffee, placed the dishes in a bin and left, muttering apologies under my breath as I went. The trip back was graceless and hurried and by the time I tucked myself into bed it was as if I had never left. Campus was still silent. My roommate was still soundly snoozing. The only additions were the shame pressing into my aching shoulders and throbbing temples, and my empty stomach’s deep, deep craving for a cup of hot coffee.