In life, we have a vast number (some would say a plethora) of opportunities for displaying our individual styles, techniques, likes and so forth.  When it comes to soda, we have too many choices. Please don’t tell my dad. He will never read this, so I am safe if you don’t let it go any further than the internet or maybe even small discussion groups.  Soda comes in glass, plastic, aluminum, fountain varieties. There are caloric choices: full sugar diabetic, diet stroke and cancer, or even flavored sparkling water which I hate to even place on this list because of the name.  Does the water really sparkle? And sparkle makes me think of glitter. And now I am angry.

There are different words for soda depending on where you live or if you were raised by weirdos.   In my youth, I called every soda “Coke”. This later came back to haunt me in a karmic sort of way when I worked the concessions at a movie theater.  Pretty much every day, someone would say, “Could I get a large Coke?” I would begin to make the drink. Right as I put the straw in the full cup they would say, “I wanted a Sprite.”  This is apparently a regional thing. There are other words like “soft drink”, so as to separate it from a hard drink like a cocktail? Or a drink made with hard water? The most clinical of the synonyms is “carbonated beverage”.  The one I hate the most is “pop”. Pop is a type of music, so let it be. See what I did there? Words. Put one in the wrong place and suddenly people question your intelligence. Words are fun good. Leave a word out and suddenly your sentence doesn’t seem.

To continue, we have different flavor options.  Probably thousands. From the tried and true Coke to the huge mistakes, New Coke, to the really weird combinations Orange Vanilla Chocolate Cherry Lemon Sherbert Acai Berry Coke (it may not have been this exactly, but something in the ballpark).  It also comes caffeine-free which is a waste or with caffeine as nature intended. Once upon a time at the movie theater, the rare customer would ask for a suicide. I was going to make a joke here, but I decided that would be in bad taste (Rimshot optional).  I would congratulate them on being complex and daring individuals because there are few things one can get at a concession stand that aren’t actually on the menu. One time a guy asked for a cup of ice with butter on it. We responded by turning our backs and shunning him like the kumite judges in Bloodsport until he walked away.

As usual, I have strayed from my original point.  Back when I was around 10, I had a very specific method for drinking cans of soda including the method for opening the cans and how I consumed them.  This was certainly an embarrassing time in my life, not just because of the soda thing, but as a general description of my life at that time. My body proportions were not of the type one would hope for and in this case might be referred to as husky.  Not like a majestic, beautiful dog capable of pulling a weighted sled across the Yukon. Not because I had really fluffy and warm fur. I guess I don’t exactly know why they use the word husky to describe humans. If you saw a picture of me from around this time, it would be fair to use descriptors such as fat, stocky, or chunky.  

Let’s move beyond my misshapen younger self and move to my quirky habits.  My drink of choice was Mello Yello. I had a history with Mello Yello, my friend, my enemy, but I shall not speak more of it here for it is a long and lonely story.  I was sort of like Bilbo and it was sort of like the One Ring. So, I had a can of Mello Yello. The second and most important thing I needed in order to perform my ritual was an ice pick.  I know. If I was in your position, I would be asking questions too. Ice picks are typically reserved for breaking up ice or used as a murder weapon. Yet I wasn’t using it for either of those.  Third, and this is important because it is essential to pair with the ice pick, a hammer. I understand your concern and confusion. You might be thinking that I had to create an ice sculpture to pour the beverage over, but that is not the case.  Clearly, what I did with the ice pick was set it on the center of the can top, where the tab meets the can, there is a small circular area slightly smaller than the ice pick tip. Obviously, I would hammer down the ice pick until a hole was driven.  Seems a normal and harmless way to open a can of soda, I know. Here is the fun part. I would place my finger on top of the tiny hole to seal it, then shake the can quite vigorously. I would place the can right up to my mouth and release the kraken.  It’s like being in the Winner’s Circle of a NASCAR race and spraying champagne in your own face except the reaction is less messy and tastes better. And you don’t have pee on yourself from driving in circles. Oh, so sorry. Ellipses.

This technique held for probably 3 to 4 years before I went to a more traditional route.  Just imagine every time I wanted to have a can of soda, I would have to find the hammer and ice pick to enjoy a drink.  Imagine the surprise of those around me who saw this display in person. But soda was meant to be enjoyed and that I did.  I regret nothing.