A Little Twist Off

Drink Coke. Play Again.

What? Oh, that’s it. Now I’m ticked. Apparently, without even knowing, not only have I been a participant in high-stakes game of chance, I’ve come out a loser without even getting a chance to rally. I’m headed back to the bench with the bat on my shoulder on a called third strike. And if anyone has seen me play baseball before, you already know I don’t like to let the pitches pass me by. If I have a chance to go for the W, I’ll swing at a knuckleball four feet over my head, just to make sure the pitched doesn’t rack up the backwards K. But this time? Didn’t even see the pitch. Damn.

The at-bat started off all so well. As the middle of the workday crept across my desk and reminded my stomach, I knew it was time to push back from my spreadsheet and round up the team. Since there’s a fair share of upper management in town this week at the office, our catering vendor has stepped it up a notch and are offering an outdoor patio barbeque option in addition to the usual cafeteria fare. Always looking for a passable reason to bypass a sorry-looking salad bar, I jumped at the opportunity to dine on grill food and potato salad. After collecting my picnic cuisine, I found out that I was also entitled to a 20 ounce beverage with my meal. I normally dine with my water bottle, but I figured I’d make the most of my mealtime investment and grab a soda. And while I was dismayed that they were all out of Pepsi, I settled for Coke,

”Steerike One!”

Eating at my desk is not a rare occurrence during my tenure here. There’s always much to do, and I find myself to be productive when trying to balance the tasks of expense consumption and food consumption. Don’t get me wrong – we’ll eat away from our desks occasionally, but it’s been much too hectic a week to entertain a meal on the patio today. As I sat back down, I saw an urgent e-mail (you know the ones – with the big ole’ ! by the name) and jumped right back into my job. This explains why I didn’t see that on the label of my drink there was a contest to be played. Retrospectively, I’m sure I never saw it on account of being dejected on account of there being no Pepsi. Retrospectively, I would have done a lot of things differently. (Like no potato salad – eech.)

“Steeriiike Two!”

And then it happened. Completely unaware of the 0-2 count that had brought against me, I stepped into the batter’s box and gripped the cap of the Coke bottle. There’s the windup, and the twist. As I nonchalantly pulled the lime green cap off of the bottle and it flipped in my palm, I saw it. Failure.

”Strike Three – You’re Out!”

From the four words laser-inscribed underneath the cap, I now have a complex. I’ve been proclaimed a loser by the Coca-Cola Company and I didn’t even ask to play their silly game. Had I known I was going to play, I could have done so much more! Looks like I had a 1 in 12 chance of leaving the plate a big winner. I could have practiced pulling bottles off the shelf, and used my sixth sense to predict the winner (or see dead people.) I could have twisted the cap off in one fell swoop, and maybe the letters contained underneath could have changed. Maybe I could have inspected underneath the cap by holding the bottle to the sky and used my fighter pilot vision to see my fate without opening altogether. At least then I wouldn’t have won OR lost.

Well now that I’ve been declared a sucker by a Fortune 500 international company, you would think my day spiraled into a maelstrom of woe. But no! Coke yells a few comments my way as I head back to the dugout. “Drink Coke! Play again!” It’s like some messed up taunt where the victor encourages the victim to come back for another lashing. No, thanks, Coca Cola. I’m not going to play anymore. I’m going home, and I’m taking my bat, my glove, and my potato salad with me. Oh, and Pepsi’s waiting for me in the fridge.

Maybe that’s why I like Pepsi more than Coke. No inferiority complex, just ice cold refreshment.