Starting the morning with a stale cup of coffee

When I got to work the other morning, Benito, the owner, was sitting on a stool behind one of the work trucks, chomping on an unlit cigar. 

As I approached the shop carrying my lunchbox, I peered over his shoulder, trying to see what he was doing. 

It looked like he was sticking letters to the tailgate.

“What are you doing, Benito?” I asked.

“I’m working,” he said, not turning around. “And you should be doing the same. I’m not paying you to loaf!” 

“But I just got here,” I said. “I haven’t even clocked in yet.”

“Then go clock in!” 

“But I was going to grab some coffee first. I only got one cup this morning. Is there any in the shop?”

“I wouldn’t drink the coffee in the shop,” Benito said. 

“Then what’s that?” I asked, pointing to the cup beside his stool.

“Starbucks. I brought it from home.” 

“Why are you drinking Starbucks when we have coffee in the shop?”

“PER CARITA! Because the coffee in the shop is mud! I shouldn’t have to explain these things to such an  obstinate imbecile!”

“The coffee’s cheap, but it’s not mud,” I said. “Who made it?”

“You did!” he said, yelling. “Remember? Three days ago!”

“Oh,” I said. “Right. On second thought, maybe Crew Leader Carl will let me stop at Starbucks.”