Hecho en Mexico

You can tell a lot about a person by the way they shop. This evening, I was rushing through Costco, trying to get all the requisite items before they closed. For some reason, this is hard for me in Costco. Stick me in a Wal-mart or Target, and by the time I leave, I usually have a headache. But let me wander aimlessly through aisles of merchandise basking on pallets under warehouse light, and I feel completely at ease, and I seriously consider buying things that I wouldn't normally.

Take tonight as an example. Even though I was in a serious hurry, I stopped for several minutes in front of the Mexican Coke. You know, the stuff made from cane sugar instead of that miscarriage of culinary science that is high fructose corn syrup. And, if that wasn't enough, it comes in GLASS BOTTLES. And not just glass bottles, but glass bottles with REAL CAPS, not the twist off kind.

Immediately, I have foggy memories of drinking an soda out of a similar bottle at a barber shop as a child. I remember my dad taking me to get my hair cut on a summer Saturday and marveling over what was probably one of the last bottled soda machines in existence. Totally mechanical. Two quarters in, turn the knob, and out rolls an ice cold bottle of hyperactivity. And to be completely honest, I don't if that's a real memory or several different ones spliced together with perhaps a little bit of the American collective unconscious. Regardless, the pallet of Mexican coke is really a mountain of bottled nostalgia.

And that explains why I'm drinking a Coke at midnight.