Friday, June 25, 2010


Oh no. Oh no. This has to stop.

I never used to drink pop, but as a confirmed caffeine addict working in the service industry, sometimes it was just too damned hot in the kitchen to drink another mug of burned coffee. Sometimes it had to be a crisp, chemically magnificent fountain diet Coke. I've found now, working in a place that doesn't sell food or drink, that the nagging voice of addiction hasn't softened. I still need heroic amounts of coffee in the morning, and the tug behind my eyeball after lunch finds me stopping at the nearby McDonald's and buying an oversized cylinder of sweet, caustic diet Coke.

Today as I approached the counter, the girl with her great neon splatter-painted talons said, "Baby, you want your diet Coke?"

So, that's how I became a McDonald's regular.

My grim options:

1. Quit (Not likely. No patience for things that feel bad.)
2. Be a McDonald's regular (Expensive, shameful.)
3. Buy the obviously inferior bottled diet Coke in bulk to be thrifty (indicates that the transformation into my mother is complete)

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