Just Another Breakfast

I’m alone in this space.

Actually, I’m not. The server just brought my coffee. There are two of us here.

No, that’s not right either. The man in the kitchen brewed the coffee and poured it in the carafe for me. There are three of us here.

Oh. And there’s a buffet set out, with trays of croissants, chalices of jams and pitchers of juices, all lovingly assembled earlier by a quiet young woman. There are four of us here.

The coffee is warm and wonderful. The beans ground but first roasted but first picked. And before that the coffee plants watered and tended, and before that the soil cultivated, and before that the land managed. The jam was boiled, the croissants were kneaded, folded, proofed, baked, packed and delivered early this morning. There are thousands of us here.

And the coffee arrived thanks to an international conglomerate with countless employees. The furniture, the flatware, the carpet on the floor and the paint on the walls each represent the final product of their own major industries: with associations, unions, university degree programs, trade journals, and professional conferences. There are hundreds of thousands of us here.

And every object in this room has made its way safely here thanks to laws, policies, covenants, international agreements and countless codes administered by armies of lawyers, accountants, compliance officers, data scientists and bureaucrats. There are millions of us here.

The wood of the pepper mill comes from Africa, the quiet sound system from America, the juice glasses from China, the coffee from South America and the eggs from Yorkshire. The whole world is here.

The server returns to check in on me.

“I’m sorry you are all alone this morning. It’s a quiet time of year for us. Is everything ok?”

Yes. Thank you. I’ve got plenty of company.