The Diary of a Guardian Angel

Caffeine, it’s the food of the gods. At least, in this case, it’s the food of angels anyway. When the coffee machine breaks in the office, people all around the world start getting away with shit they wouldn’t normally. A couple of months ago the espresso function broke, and Italy still hasn’t recovered.

So today, when they told us they were going to start stocking the machines with decaf there was nearly a full-scale revolt. Apparently, the higher-ups are a tad concerned about the office caffeine dependency; and despite the literal magic that generates the coffee, they’re concerned about the fact that when supply drops, morality across the world is in jeopardy.

Naturally, people are grumbling, and some of my colleagues are talking about going on strike. No one believes them though; you don’t become a guardian angel by putting yourself first.

Ah well, I’m sure we’ll all get used to the decaf thing, the same way we all got used to having our appraisals case-by-case instead of annually, and the cubicles.

We get these little upsets every now and then. Despite their omniscience, those in charge do seem to change their minds often. All part of the plan I suppose. Still, if you wait around for a couple of centuries things usually change back again.

According to nutritionalists breakfast is the most important meal of the day. It’s certainly my favourite meal, and the perfect opportunity for me to unwind.

This is simply because not a lot of moral education happens at Breakfast time. This is because most people haven’t actually engaged with the world at all, so any effort to educate anyone would be completely wasted. This is also because people don’t really do much that you could use as a lesson.

Take for example a young couple waking up early on a Monday. They’re having even more difficulty than usual getting out of bed because it’s Monday, and somehow Sunday night’s sleep isn’t as restful as all the other nights of the week. Through a series of grunts, they manage to agree that they want toast, rather than porridge. Through more grunts, they decide that he wants a cup of tea, but she wants orange juice. Curiously, they decide that she’s going to make the tea, while he’s going to get the juice from the fridge. They sit down, by unspoken consent they listen to the radio rather than talking to each other.

They are barely engaged with themselves at this point in the day, let alone each other. The opportunity for either of them to even make the beginning of a mistake is minimal. All of which means I can sit back and relax, enjoy my coffee and crumpet and read the newspapers.