My cluttered desk in front of me - receipts, keys, pens... technology all dirties the beautifully fake wooden desk UB has provided me. Amidst all the junk lie the most common thing of all - my empty Diet Coke cans.
"If only they were full," I often lament. While the five cent return for each and every one of my many DC cans can amount to scores if not throngs of good old
American dollars, the hassle of obtaining that sweet, sweet nectar is depressing to my addicted palate.
"Josh, you're addicted to Diet Coke!" many have emphatically told me. Thank you for informing me, Captain Obvious.
"That's going to give you cancer some day." Yeah? Being alive will kill you.
I've heard all the reasons in the world about why my addiction is bad, and even wrong. Even though you could never understand why I need Diet Coke, I'll try to explain.
I can't recall exactly when I switched from Coke to Diet Coke. (Side note: it was never Pepsi. I can't even believe I'm putting the word in print.) Giving my best effort to estimate, I probably jumped on the wagon in seventh grade.
Most likely, we were out of Coke. Instead, I reached for the silver can. And now I can't go back. The utter satisfaction I get from the caffeine, the aspartame, the taste, is a gift from God.
Everyone in my family drinks it. My mother's addiction was transferred to my elder sister and me. Now my two younger, school-aged sisters love it. My grandparents drink it. My girlfriend drinks it. Everyone except my Dad. He used to drink the red can stuff, but we got him to switch to the black can, Coke Zero.
If I was ever to find the "other" pop in my fridge at home, I know my parents had a party and someone didn't bother to get the superior drink.
When we all go out to dinner, the waiter is inevitably attacked.
"Hi, my name is Will. I'll be your waiter tonight. Can I get you all some drinks?"
I usually reply with, "Do you have Coke or Pepsi?"
"Pepsi."
Not only does my heart sink after my limbic system absorbs those two syllables, but the rest of the restaurant gets to hear my family's audible groan.
"Uhhhhh."
I swiftly rejoin reality with an exasperated, "I'll have ginger ale."
I'd rather gnaw on a piece of sumac bark than drink that crap.
As long as I have the means, that won't be necessary. It's an expensive habit to maintain; on average, I'd estimate that I drink 60 fluid ounces a day. But that might be a conservative estimate.
The days that I'm at home watching football or baseball with my mother, we go through a twelve-pack a day. Holidays are the best - we drink so much. Last Thanksgiving, my sister and I had to run out to Super Wal-Mart because we had a DC emergency.
Normally, we buy on sale, and we buy a lot. Over the years, the best consistent price you can get is $2.50 per 12-pack. The sad thing is that Coke sales alternate with the "other" pop sales. Walking into the Wegmans foyer and seeing a leaning tower of Pepsi causes my esophagus to shrink.
The best Coke sale took place two summers ago at Wegmans. I bought four 12-packs for $10, plus tax a deposit. It was a decent price to start, but then there was a rebate. I had to send it in to Coke, but I got $10 back, only paying for tax and deposit.
If only UB could make some bargain deals with the god of all pops. I think the folks down in Atlanta, where Coke is based, would understand that Joshua Boston, a UB student, requires Diet Coke.
For now, UB is on my terrorist watch list for their blatantly un-American choice to serve Pepsi on campus. Coke is the true American drink.
The only places that sell Diet Coke on campus are the Commons and the Elli. Mind you, these places charge an arm and a leg for pop. Instead, I have to buy my Diet Coke in bulk off campus.
Until things change at UB, I'll continue to struggle along. When I have to go without, I suppress the headaches; I suppress the withdrawal; I suppress my need for Diet Coke.
