Look, I don’t drink coffee. The only way I can drink coffee is if I drown it with ten cubic inches of milk and two shots of Hazelnut Torani, and that costs, like, $4.00 these days. Let’s face it: it’s dirty water. That’s what you’re drinking. It’s hot water run through something that looks an awful lot like the contents of the average dustpan. And it’s bitter as God.
Most adults start their days with coffee in some form or another. It’s a ritualized thing. I witnessed it firsthand, working in a coffee shop for two years in Ann Arbor. People were desperate for it to the point where I think we could’ve started charging in limbs. It’s simple: People need their caffeine.
The thing is, I need mine too. So I substitute. Every day at about 11:00, I go get myself a 20oz bottle of Mountain Dew from the vending machine. And this would all be perfectly fine if it weren’t for the inexorable "Dew Stigma" that I will briefly discuss...
“Long live the Dew of the Mountain, Drink of the Proletariat,” I once wrote. Well, that wasn’t exactly right. After some consideration, I’ve concluded it’s more like “Drink of the Philistine.” After being plastered all over snowboarder bibs and NASCAR hoods and shown on TV being acrobatically consumed by young men with wild eyes and no brains, Mountain Dew is inextricably fused with stupidity—and not the pick-your-nose-and-wipe-it-on-your-math-book kind; we’re talking the end-up-in-the-hospital-with-no-lips kind. In so many words: not for the intellectual.
For this reason, if anyone gets in the elevator with me when I’m carrying it, I hide it behind my right leg. Also for this reason, if I ever were to run into some girl I like down in the vending-machine area, I would either linger in ostensible indecision until she left or pretend I had come down for a bag of cashews or a Snapple. I wish the fine people at Pepsi Co. would take a more literal approach to their marketing campaign. Play off the name of the drink, perhaps: clouds rising from a mountainside: a beautiful thing, really – beads of dew resting delicately on the bright leaves of various Appalachian flora. That’s how they make it, right? Collect that stuff? Then throw some Yellow 5 in there to make it glow and lower everyone’s sperm count? (No, that’s an urban legend; I looked it up. Plus, women don’t have sperm, that I know of.)
Really, I wish coffee didn’t taste so bad. I would drink it then. I would. And I wouldn’t have to hide my beverage behind my leg anymore. But, alas, it is not the reality. I know I shouldn’t have to be embarrassed, but I am—with my pants in a green glow, and my cheeks all Code Red.
2 comments:
i am not one to be influenced by commercials or "scientific" journals. whenever i see a gentleman "doin the dew" i always think to my self, "now there is a young man who conscientious and takin responsibility for his sexual activity!"
whatevers clever, baby.
Now, Dave, I wasn't going to say anything, but now that you've openly admitted it, I will wholeheartedly admit that you are indeed white-trash. Embrace this, my friend.
However, I doubt this now-established fact has anything to do with your ability to attract women. I mean, at least you're not the guy decked out in douche-yellow L.L. Bean who orders a grande soy caramel pumpkin-spice latte with extra whip. Now, what would that make you?
:o)
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