I had a life before Diet Mountain Dew.
I’ve always loved soda. And I don’t want to hear a bunch of crap about how it’s bad for me and all of that. I know this, OK? But I’m not going to listen to a lecture about how soda is bad for me from someone who drinks 360 ounces of coffee a day, you know what I’m saying? For whatever reason, over the years I’ve become enamored of a number of sodas that wound up being discontinued after a relatively short time. One example is 7up Gold, which I’ve discussed on the air before. 7up Gold hit the market when I was 14 and didn’t last a year. Now I can’t even really remember what it tasted like, but I do remember that I went absolutely bonkers over it, and I was crushed when it was discontinued. With the perspective of hindsight I can see that it was probably destined for failure. For one thing, it was a caffeinated soda from the company whose slogan for its flagship product was “Never had it, never will,” regarding its lack of caffeine. But 7up Gold was an afterthought to another soft drink whose siren song led me to ruin. OK, that’s not strictly true, but it’s an interesting story all the same. At least I think so. The following is an essay I wrote on the subject. It was rejected by every publication I submitted it to, so I thought I’d share it with you instead.
I think we can all agree that at some time in our lives we’ve loved and lost. Hopefully that loss was not in vain; hopefully you learned something from it, a lesson that you carry with you still.
My first great loss was a real bummer, and I didn’t learn a thing from it. Her name was Cookie. OK, that’s a lie. Her name was Coke. And she wasn’t a person. It was Coke. Coca-Cola.
Allow me to explain. Those younger readers who weren’t around during the first half of the 80s won’t remember, but I presume most of you have heard of the New Coke Fiasco? To cut a long story short, the Coca-Cola Company introduced a new formula for their flagship product, the American people revolted, and after a few short months, the new formula was pulled and the original was returned, now called Coke Classic. Since then many conspiracy theories have abounded regarding the fact that the cane sugar in the original was replaced with high fructose corn syrup, or that the entire thing was a marketing masterstroke conceived in a boardroom.
But I don’t care about any of that. I was ten years old in early 1985 when New Coke was discontinued, and it hit me hard.
You see, I had fallen in love with New Coke. When I first tasted it, I felt that I had finally found a soft drink whose very essence resonated with my taste buds. The search was over; I had found my soda, and at such a young age! Not many are so lucky. I threw caution to the wind and indulged my new love, secure in the knowledge that it would remain by my side. It was Coke! A national institution! To think it would not be around forever was simply absurd! I knew deep in my heart that I could rely on its presence.
The warning signs appeared soon after. It became clear that my family and friends, for the most part, disapproved of my relationship. For one thing, I was part of a Pepsi family, and the idea that I would take up with Coke was shocking and appalling. For another thing, my mother balked at the notion of buying two or three family-sized bottles of the stuff each shopping trip simply for me to guzzle them down in twenty minutes while watching television.
The writing on the wall was perfectly clear; if I was going to make my relationship with New Coke work I would have to do so secretly. From that point on every penny of my allowance went toward Coke. If I picked up some extra cash doing chores or yardwork, that money disappeared in a flash as well. I plunked countless quarters into soda machines and soon found myself on a first name basis with the cashier at the Wawa in my neighborhood.
And then, just over two months later, it was all over. I saw on the news that Coke had decided to end production on New Coke and reintroduce the original formula. The company would be ceasing production within days, and while remaining stock would remain on shelves while it lasted, no more would be available.
I’m not proud to tell you that when I heard this news I panicked. I bought up all the New Coke I could, which wasn’t much. I didn’t have a job, of course, being ten years old, so it became apparent that I needed the help of a parent. So I went back to my mom and explained that New Coke was going to be disappearing forever soon and I needed to build up a stockpile.
My mom was not impressed. “It’s soda,” she said. “Just drink something else.” Drink something else? I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was the depth of my feelings not evident? Was it not obvious that I was stricken, my broken heart bleeding? In that moment I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt: I truly was alone in the world.
Life went on, of course. New Coke remained in my life for another month or so after the announcement of the discontinuation. I ordered it in restaurants whose soda fountain syrup had not yet been replaced. I continued to by loose cans and bottles when I had the funds to do so.
But inevitably, New Coke faded and disappeared from my life. The days stretched out ahead of me, empty and cold. Well, not actually cold, as it was the middle of the summer. Certainly empty, though. I tried to follow the callous maternal advice I’d been given. I drank other sodas; I drank iced tea; I drank lemonade. I avoided the Wawa, for it was too acute a reminder of the pain of my loss. I frequented Seven Eleven and drank Slurpees. Ultimately nothing filled the void.
Time continued to pass, as it does. The wound became a scar, which eventually faded. Now I can no longer even recall the taste of New Coke, even in my dreams. Over the past decade Coke Zero became my cola of choice. At first I was cautious. Unwilling to be hurt again, I drank Coke Zero sparingly, maybe once a month. “It’s all right,” I told my friends, concealing the immense satisfaction the drink was bringing me. I was in denial; emotionally I was already deeply invested. It was simply a matter of time before I went public with the relationship. Before long my insecurity fell away and I grew accustomed to the presence of Coke Zero in my life. The passing of years assured me that this time, my love was truly here to stay.
And then, one day I saw an announcement: “Coke Zero to be replaced with Coke Zero Sugar.”
I reeled back in my chair, thrust my hands skyward, and cried in anguish, wondering what it was I had done to anger the universe.
But then I discovered that it still tasted more or less the same, so it was all good.
