I’m A Coca-Cola Freestyle Machine, And I Really Miss Intimacy
By: Casey Rosario
Tags: Humor, Movies, Satire, Life, Food

I’m A Coca-Cola Freestyle Machine, And I Really Miss Intimacy

A lament from your favorite futuristic soda fountain.

Hi. Remember me? I’m the Coca-Cola Freestyle Machine at the back of your favorite AMC Theater, and man, I really missed having company. I took you for granted, baby. People are starting to trickle back in, but it doesn’t hold a candle to what we used to have. Without you, I’d rather be alone.

At first, I thought, “Hey, this hiatus is some great me time.” I got to focus on some personal goals, like finding the right ratio for a mix of Vanilla Coke, Cherry Pibb, and Diet Barq’s (It was 2:3:1). Or, how to drop a chunk of ice into a forceful button-pusher’s cup, though they’re expecting it crushed. I even taught myself how to spray my stream to the tune of ‘Viva Las Vegas’ like the Fountains of Bellagio. I was looking forward to showing you.

I can’t lie. It was nice to be away from the kids for a few months. Does that make me an asshole? I just loathed the predictability of it all — the repeated push of the Hi-C flavors, the grimy hands, the pieces of popcorn chucked at my screen. I gave so much and got so little in return. During Sonic the Hedgehog’s opening weekend, one tot climbed on top of me and jumped up and down until security coaxed him to the ground with some Milk Duds. It took me weeks to feel like myself again; I kept vibrating and short-circuiting from the memory of it.

When I power down at night, I return to that last time we saw each other. You cut out early from work, exhausted from another week at a thankless job. Sprinting through the front doors, you made it just in time for the slightly cheaper matinee pricing. You were wearing your favorite green flannel, and I saw your face visibly relax when you were handed your usual at the concessions counter– Strawberry Sour Punch Straws, a small popcorn, and a medium sized cup.

You walked that cup up to me, and I straightened to my rectangular best. I watched you take a sigh, gently pushing the button to quarter-fill the cup with ice, then choose a full pour of Diet Coke. After, you ambled away slowly, shaking your head as though something was amiss. That’s when you raced back and gave me the best ride of my life, baby. You dumped that liquified, Splenda BS down my drain and began pressing all my buttons — Minute Maid Mixed Berry, Seagram’s Ginger Ale Lime, Vitamin Water Tropical Punch, Dasani Cherry Lemon, Mellow Yellow Raspberry Twist. I had never seen someone work so quickly before, and with so much abandon. With so much joy! You were the alchemist, and I was your tool, as you fashioned the potion for a beautiful, fleeting love.

You topped off your creation with Sprite Grape, the finishing touch, and took a sip that sent you to heaven. You patted me on my side, a gesture I hadn’t felt since my PurePour technology was installed in 2009. Then, I saw your green flannel disappear into Theater 3 for the next showing of The Gentleman, and I haven’t seen those elbow patches since.

Instead of my selection screen, people are now using phone apps to pour into their cups. Peering from behind masks, they hastily select things like Red Powerade, no ice. It’s haunting. Such uncreative choices, and I don’t even get the benefit of a human touch.

I met my true match in you — an artist. I’ve been hurt by creative types before, but the way you stick the landing splash-free? Astounding. Please just let me know we’ll dance our dance once again, even if it’s just for one more rendezvous. I only trust your hands, sweet enchanter.

I await you desperately!