I’d be pretty miffed, too, if all I had to drink was 12 oz in a Coke bottle. What’s that–three sips? That’s like drinking one glass of wine, one Pringle, one chip with salsa. It’s just a tease. But no worries–as soon as school was out, the kids hit the corner drug store for (no, not anti-depressants) fellowship, gossip, and soda pop.
Toss ‘em back, girls. Finals are tomorrow and you’ll have to pull an all-nighter. And I’m not sure NoDoz has been invented yet. But take heart; in just two score years, the soda will be flowing like the River Thames.
SEVEN OUNCES! AM I READING THAT CORRECTLY? THAT’S A SHOT GLASS. But mercy, did it triple, quadruple, and whatever words there are for getting six times bigger. But that ain’t nothin’. Sonic sells the Route 44. Don’t you want to take the Nestea plunge into this cherry limeade?
Come to think of it, where’s the Route 66? Would that fit in the cupholder? Maybe, but it would dilute by the time I got home. Ugh! First World Problems!
Now, honestly, do you think they were only drinking one soda per sitting back in the day? That’s not what the soda companies wanted. When research in the 1930s showed that people’s blood sugar went down at 10:30am, 2:30pm, and 4:30pm, Dr. Pepper was all over that with their new slogan. Those of you who are slaves to the man have real jobs recognize these three times. I bet you get your caffeine on at 10, 2 and 4.
Yeah, there’s no way they just drank one. Think about it. If you’re on a date with Johnny, it only takes about three minutes to get through an entire bottle. Then what do you drink?
What did they drink before free refills? Did they order water? Did they just sit and get dehydrated for the next hour? There is no way I could eat Mexican food with only 12 oz to wash it down, especially if I just swallowed a serrano pepper.
Maybe they only drank one soda so they could save room for this:
I know; Shorpy is awesome.
I meant the ice cream, not the soda jerk. Although he looks dapper in his starched whites. Can you begin to imagine what that would taste like? Ice cream from a cow that ate grass, that roamed around on a farm, not pumped full of growth hormones or antibiotics, before the estrogenization of dairy, before man boobs and low T. Sorry, I’m off on a tangent. Where were we again? Oh, yeah. Soda. Could it get any crazier?
It has.
So what’s the answer? Where do we go from here?
Oops. Nevermind. That’s actually a lighter.
