Dr Pepper

I feel that a word about Dr. Pepper is in order.

The world may be said to consist of three types of people; those who like Dr. Pepper, those who hate Dr. Pepper, and those who have yet to encounter this great Rubicon of life.

If the movie The Matrix were produced by a Dr. Pepper fan the protagonist, instead of being presented with different color pills would be presented with Dr. Pepper and Mr. Pibb – choosing Dr. Pepper would be choosing reality, choosing Mr. Pibb would be choosing to remain in sub-virtual reality.

As the above advertisement illustrates, Dr. Pepper was once marketed as a hot drink as well as a cold drink. I once actually tried it hot – it was okay, perhaps I should give it another go now that I think about it.

It was also marketed with the numbers 10 – 2 – 4, representing 10:00 AM, 2:000 PM, and 4:00 PM; times of the day when the body could use a pick-me-up to avoid its letdowns at 10:30, 2:30, and 4:30. I’m sure I’ve pretty much covered all the hours of the day with Dr. Pepper.

My first experience with Dr. Pepper was undoubtedly visiting my cousins in Virginia and walking down to the country store with pop bottles to trade-in for penny candy (yes, I’m getting old) and soda pop (also called a soft drink in those days). Nehi was another big favorite but this post isn’t about Nehi. Another thing we did in those days was to buy a bottle of Coca Cola and a nickel pack of Planter’s Peanuts and pour the peanuts in the Coke – but this post isn’t about that either – it’s about the Dr.

Dr. Pepper wasn’t a big thing in the Maryland suburbs of D.C. when I was growing up but it was a known commodity in Virginia.

Vickie doesn’t like Dr. Pepper – this is good and bad. It’s good in that she won’t dip into my supply. It’s bad in that when we’re traveling and stop for gasoline, if I say I’m going to get a soda and she says she doesn’t want one it means that I’ve got to get a 7-Up or Sprite or some such thing – that’s because I know if I get one of those that she’ll want a sip and that if I get a Dr. Pepper she won’t touch it. I know, I know. I know I should get over it and just get Dr. Pepper and let her do without – but I suppose it’s that “better or worse” line I said way back when.

Our friend and neighbor Patrick, Alice’s husband, is a Dr. Pepper fan. The thing is, poor old boy, that Alice watches his Dr. Pepper intake the way one of my aunts used to watch her husband’s whiskey intake – she’s like the bureau of weights and measures. So when Patrick comes down for Bible study and prayer I make sure I’ve got a nice refreshing can of the Dr. ready and available for him.

I try to help Patrick out by telling Alice I’ve read articles from the Mayo Clinic about the medicinal benefits of a moderate relationship with the Dr. but I don’t think she buys it, though Patrick does appreciate the effort.

Years ago I was filling out an employment application that seemed to require that I write an autobiography. The questions began to get pretty personnel and I got tired and a bit resentful at the nature of some of the questions. When I got to a question about who my physician was I’d had enough and wrote down, Dr. Pepper. While I didn’t get the job I did create a memory.

Yes, I am drinking Dr. Pepper as I write this. I’d prefer the old Dr. Pepper bottle but those days are gone – and as with other sodas it does taste different in a bottle versus a can, but if a can is all you can get then a can it is. I sure hope they never package the Dr. in one of those sippy bags.

I guess that’s about it. Now if you’ve read this far you’re probably wondering why you’ve done so, I’ll give you a good reason – isn’t reading about Dr. Pepper a whole lot better than reading about Congressmen resigning due to infidelity, or the Gulf oil spill, or the economy, or just about anything you’re going to find on the front page? I’ve got a suspicion it just might be.