Let’s get one thing straight: coffee isn’t a luxury for teachers.

It’s a survival mechanism. A coping strategy. A legal form of self-medication brewed in Keurig pods and staff lounge folklore.

Coffee is what separates us from the animals.
Also from the students.
And occasionally from making deeply inappropriate remarks during professional development.

To the untrained eye, coffee may look like a beverage. A warm little pick-me-up.
No.

Coffee is armor.

It’s the teacher version of Iron Man’s suit. The mug is our arc reactor. Take it away—things get dark fast.

Allow me to illustrate.

Example 1: The PD Day 1 Staff Inservice

It’s 8:05 a.m.
The room smells like over-toasted bagels and desperation.
The PowerPoint is on slide 2 of 74.
No one has had coffee yet.

This is where the real danger lies.

The principal is explaining new lunch duty protocols using a Venn diagram. Somebody sneezes too loud and three people flinch. You can actually hear someone mentally updating their résumé.

But the second the coffee arrives?

Oh. Transformation.

People perk up. Someone starts taking notes. Laughter is heard—laughter!—around slide 23. The science teacher offers a helpful suggestion instead of passive-aggressively muttering into her scarf. It’s basically a Disney movie at that point.

With caffeine.

Example 2: The Coffee Mug Is a Boundary

Here’s the thing: if I’m holding a mug, I’m not emotionally available yet.

That mug says, “I care about you, but I’m not ready to prove it until I’ve had three sips.”

One Monday morning, I walked into my classroom clutching my mug like it was the last rose on The Bachelor. Before I even set down my bag, a student approached with a stack of crumpled papers and said:

“I finished all my missing work, but I accidentally spilled chocolate milk on it. Can I still turn it in?”

I didn’t flinch. I simply raised my mug and whispered:

“Not yet, Trevor. Not… yet.”

Example 3: Mystery Brew in the Teacher Lounge

Every school has one.

The sad communal coffee pot that’s older than the district itself. No one knows who brought it. It runs on dark magic and powdered creamer.

It brews a liquid that technically qualifies as coffee but tastes like ambition and burnt toast.
Still—we drink it. Because we’re professionals.

And because the alternative is facing 1st period uncaffeinated, and no one wants to see that version of us.
That version corrects grammar in casual conversation and cries during fire drills.

Example 4: Coffee as Emotional Support During Student Presentations

Imagine watching 28 five-minute book reports on Diary of a Wimpy Kid, all read verbatim from crumpled sheets of loose-leaf.

One student is clearly winging it.
Another just described the plot of Frozen but swears it’s a novel.

You sit there, nodding politely, sipping your coffee like it’s a lifeline. Because it is. You’re not even drinking it anymore—you’re just holding it for stability. Like a security blanket that smells like vanilla hazelnut and barely repressed anxiety.

Example 5: Field Trip Fuel

You ever chaperone a field trip to the zoo on a hot day, with 120 kids, 3 clipboards, a whistle that doesn’t work, and one bathroom break at 10:47 a.m.?

Coffee is not a drink on field trips. It’s a strategy.

It’s how we walk 6.2 miles, wrangle snack wrappers, and still manage to locate Jimmy, who wandered off to “touch a turtle.”
It’s what we sip while pretending we’re not Googling how to fake a leg injury to get out of a ropes course.

Final Thought: The Cold Coffee Tragedy

A teacher’s coffee is never hot when they finish it. Never.

It’s microwaved twice, abandoned during a fire drill, rescued during recess, then finally chugged at room temperature like a gritty shot of ambition and despair.

And we don’t complain.
Because we love this job.

And because somewhere deep inside that mug is the strength to answer one more email, untangle one more friendship bracelet, and remind one more child that glue sticks are not ChapStick.

So yeah. Coffee to a teacher?
It’s not a drink.
It’s a lifestyle.

And may the person who brings fresh coffee to the lounge be forever blessed with quiet lunch duty, working projectors, and the respect of the custodian.

Now if you’ll excuse me, my coffee just hit the perfect temperature—for the third time today. Wish me luck.

Enjoy this one? You might just be one of us. There’s more waiting at Inkblotz—stories and reflections that feel like remembering something you forgot you knew.