I hate water drinkers.

You know the kind. They walk around swinging their Nalgene bottles like a new religion.

I’m terribly sorry if you’re one of them. I do realize that, despite the ridiculous nature of carrying water around from meeting to meeting in an office environment, a healthy 8 glasses a day is a good religion to follow.

But when I head to the break room to grab a steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee, I don’t want you in there.

Because when I reach for that Styrofoam cup, you reach for one too. And instead of filling it to the brim with crushed, roasted, chocolate beans from some Columbian plant harvested by Starbucks, you fill yours with crisp, bubbling water from the jug perched atop that insidious looking fountain.

And with every sip of my black coffee, I blacken my soul. For I am not as pious as you, Water Drinker.

And that’s why I hate you.