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I opened my refrigerator this morning, and there it was, that beautiful red can with white lettering, Coca Cola. While I was tempted to grab the can, I instead grabbed the jug of milk. However, I was VERY tempted to start my morning off with a little chrome cleaner. Hello, my name is Kim and I’m addicted to Coca Cola.
Right now as I think about it, I can honestly feel the taste of that sweet nectar in my mouth. I L-O-V-E the stuff. It's horrible for you, I know, but it is part of my heritage and I can’t seem to shake my need to have at least a little every day. Part of my heritage? Yup, a lot of my childhood memories include snapshots of this pleasurable delicacy. Coca Cola was introduced to our family years ago. One of my Father’s many jobs was working for Coca Cola. He used to drive the beautiful red truck and make deliveries in the Seattle’s University District. Part of his route was Greek Row. He liked to tell stories about entering the sorority houses and announcing his arrival by yelling ‘man on the floor!’. (I honestly think he probably waited a bit until he was a few steps onto the floor before he yelled those words.) My understanding is that at the end of the day, he would bring a little home, thus fueling an addiction for the entire family. My mom admits that as a toddler on occasion they would even put some in my baby bottle!! I can’t believe no one called CPS on them! And I wonder why my bad nutrition habits are so tough to break!
My Father was a connoisseur of Coke. I remember over the years him complaining when he would get a bottle that he felt was ‘stale’. He would them lament that the delivery guy wasn’t properly ‘rotating the stock’. He would actually refuse to drink any cola that he felt was past its prime. At restaurants he would be annoyed if they sold Pepsi products instead of Coke products convinced that he could tell the difference even if it was coming out of a soda fountain. As a young child, I was amazed by his discerning palate.
My Mom was also a connoisseur. Her favorite thing (besides a big bowl of buttered popcorn) was a tall glass of Coke with ice cubes. Many a day I would return from school to find her out working in the yard, covered in dirt. I would greet her and she would ask me to go in and get her a ‘tall glass of Coke with ice cubes’. Upon my return with the sugar infused drink, she would set her rake down and plop on the grass and drink the stuff down in a big gulp. To this day we tease her because whenever we walk into her home, one of her first questions is ‘do you want a Coke?’. In my early years, many, many times, she would invite delivery people in to have a coke with her. I wonder what those delivery people thought??? I think the UPS guy probably argued for the route that had Barb on it and scheduled her stop for his break time. Does anyone do that today? I doubt it, we are all way too busy to engage in that level of hospitality.
No matter what, we always seemed to have a ready supply of Coke, chilled and at the ready. I have 2 vivid memories of the great lengths we went to in order to ensure that we had a ready supply of coke. The first one is when I was quite young, my oldest brother Jeff was still in high school. Dad was out of town on business. He was gone every week, but this time it was the annual sales convention in some wonderfully sunny spot. It was the end of a pay period and we were out of grocery money AND out of food. Mom was scraping the bottom of the barrel to come up with food for us to eat. I remember taking celery sticks with peanut butter as my school lunch. We had tomato soup one night–something we NEVER ate unless it had been dumped into some horrid casserole–I am thankful it wasn’t the cream of mushroom. We thought we could make it until Dad’s paycheck came, then the worst happened. The company decided to give Dad his paycheck AT the convention. Mom became desperate as the last drop of Coke had been consumed and the checkbook was empty. We were all instructed to raid our piggy banks. Jeff even had to break open his special commemorative proof sets so that we had enough to head to the grocery store. Jeff and I were sent to the store..the 16 year old and his 8 year old sister and their bag of change. Mom was too embarrassed to go. We didn’t have enough change for milk and Coke, so we were instructed to get Coke. I thought it was a great idea, until the next morning when I had to have the stuff with my oatmeal. Coke and oatmeal do NOT mix.
My next memory was a few years later. We were living in Indianapolis. It was winter and Dad was out of town, this time I think he was in Hawaii (maybe the Bahamas?) for another sales convention. A blizzard was heading our way. My Mom checked her supplies and realized that she might run out of Coke. All four of us kids knew that it was way better for Mom’s mood to have her Coke than to not have her Coke, so we weren’t scared to go out, we accepted the challenge. Jeff and I were sent out in the blinding snow to the Plaid Pantry to get supplies (aka Coke). I still remember riding in his rear-wheel drive Cutlass in white-out conditions, cars sliding off the road in front and behind us. We made it to the store and picked up enough Coke to keep Mom stocked for the duration. Again, we ran out of milk, but we had Coke! We were snowed in for days.
So yes, my name is Kim and I’m addicted to Coke. I guess there are worse things I could be addicted to...and no, we are NOT going to discuss my love of chardonnay today.
Right now as I think about it, I can honestly feel the taste of that sweet nectar in my mouth. I L-O-V-E the stuff. It's horrible for you, I know, but it is part of my heritage and I can’t seem to shake my need to have at least a little every day. Part of my heritage? Yup, a lot of my childhood memories include snapshots of this pleasurable delicacy. Coca Cola was introduced to our family years ago. One of my Father’s many jobs was working for Coca Cola. He used to drive the beautiful red truck and make deliveries in the Seattle’s University District. Part of his route was Greek Row. He liked to tell stories about entering the sorority houses and announcing his arrival by yelling ‘man on the floor!’. (I honestly think he probably waited a bit until he was a few steps onto the floor before he yelled those words.) My understanding is that at the end of the day, he would bring a little home, thus fueling an addiction for the entire family. My mom admits that as a toddler on occasion they would even put some in my baby bottle!! I can’t believe no one called CPS on them! And I wonder why my bad nutrition habits are so tough to break!
My Father was a connoisseur of Coke. I remember over the years him complaining when he would get a bottle that he felt was ‘stale’. He would them lament that the delivery guy wasn’t properly ‘rotating the stock’. He would actually refuse to drink any cola that he felt was past its prime. At restaurants he would be annoyed if they sold Pepsi products instead of Coke products convinced that he could tell the difference even if it was coming out of a soda fountain. As a young child, I was amazed by his discerning palate.
My Mom was also a connoisseur. Her favorite thing (besides a big bowl of buttered popcorn) was a tall glass of Coke with ice cubes. Many a day I would return from school to find her out working in the yard, covered in dirt. I would greet her and she would ask me to go in and get her a ‘tall glass of Coke with ice cubes’. Upon my return with the sugar infused drink, she would set her rake down and plop on the grass and drink the stuff down in a big gulp. To this day we tease her because whenever we walk into her home, one of her first questions is ‘do you want a Coke?’. In my early years, many, many times, she would invite delivery people in to have a coke with her. I wonder what those delivery people thought??? I think the UPS guy probably argued for the route that had Barb on it and scheduled her stop for his break time. Does anyone do that today? I doubt it, we are all way too busy to engage in that level of hospitality.
No matter what, we always seemed to have a ready supply of Coke, chilled and at the ready. I have 2 vivid memories of the great lengths we went to in order to ensure that we had a ready supply of coke. The first one is when I was quite young, my oldest brother Jeff was still in high school. Dad was out of town on business. He was gone every week, but this time it was the annual sales convention in some wonderfully sunny spot. It was the end of a pay period and we were out of grocery money AND out of food. Mom was scraping the bottom of the barrel to come up with food for us to eat. I remember taking celery sticks with peanut butter as my school lunch. We had tomato soup one night–something we NEVER ate unless it had been dumped into some horrid casserole–I am thankful it wasn’t the cream of mushroom. We thought we could make it until Dad’s paycheck came, then the worst happened. The company decided to give Dad his paycheck AT the convention. Mom became desperate as the last drop of Coke had been consumed and the checkbook was empty. We were all instructed to raid our piggy banks. Jeff even had to break open his special commemorative proof sets so that we had enough to head to the grocery store. Jeff and I were sent to the store..the 16 year old and his 8 year old sister and their bag of change. Mom was too embarrassed to go. We didn’t have enough change for milk and Coke, so we were instructed to get Coke. I thought it was a great idea, until the next morning when I had to have the stuff with my oatmeal. Coke and oatmeal do NOT mix.
My next memory was a few years later. We were living in Indianapolis. It was winter and Dad was out of town, this time I think he was in Hawaii (maybe the Bahamas?) for another sales convention. A blizzard was heading our way. My Mom checked her supplies and realized that she might run out of Coke. All four of us kids knew that it was way better for Mom’s mood to have her Coke than to not have her Coke, so we weren’t scared to go out, we accepted the challenge. Jeff and I were sent out in the blinding snow to the Plaid Pantry to get supplies (aka Coke). I still remember riding in his rear-wheel drive Cutlass in white-out conditions, cars sliding off the road in front and behind us. We made it to the store and picked up enough Coke to keep Mom stocked for the duration. Again, we ran out of milk, but we had Coke! We were snowed in for days.
So yes, my name is Kim and I’m addicted to Coke. I guess there are worse things I could be addicted to...and no, we are NOT going to discuss my love of chardonnay today.
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