Tea, coffee, can’t get enough of the stuff. I could happily sit at my desk each day hooked up to an IV drip spewing caffeine into my veins. So much so that when my wife flew out to New York earlier this year, she came back with a supersized, New York original yellow taxi mug to help slake my never ending thirst for a daily hit. It was a good mug. A loyal mug. It never strayed between desks. But it couldn’t withstand the rough and tumble of office life as I discovered when I came into the office one morning recently to find it in pieces. Along with a smily face scrawled on a piece of paper saying sorry. Not sure who it was, mostly likely the cleaner. But that’s life. No drama. Move along nothing to see here. Or so I thought. Postman comes chapping at 7am with a parcel. With a US postmark. For me. Not expecting anything, I gave it the cursory shake test as you do with all things marked with a big, red, FRAGILE label, and ripped it open. And there, to my surprise, was a shiny, intact New York Yellow Taxi mug. But no note. Now I’m very, very pleased to have said mug. A drinking I shall go. But it remains a mystery who the ever so thoughtful sender was. No-one has yet claimed responsibility. I hope they do. But until then, thank you phantom mug giver. You’ve made a thirsty man very happy.
