Diluted Coke! Blech!
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Everyone has their little eccentricities. Mine is ice in soda. Jules doesn’t dig on swine. I don’t dig on watered-down Coke. Ice cubes are time-release water capsules. You wouldn’t walk over to the tap and put some water in your drink, would you? Well, maybe you would; that’s another kind of eccentricity. Anyway, I wouldn’t, unless I was cutting a good bourbon, and only then when I’m in a certain mood.
People sometimes say, “Oh, but it’s warm,” as if this was supposed to make me want ice. No; that makes me want it less. Heat, we learned in physical science class, just speeds up the clock on the time-release water capsules.
So, when I go to a fast-food joint and ask for a “Coke, no ice,” it strikes me as a fairly simple request. I realize that the monkeys who take my orders must not get that one very often, but why should I return to an establishment if they cannot even get that right? Some people are allergic to tomatoes; are you going to screw that up, too?