Mr. Coca Cola
My name is Tony, and I’m a Coke addict. (They say admitting the problem is the first step.) I’ve known for some time that many around me believe that I drink too much Coca Cola. When friends Lisa and Garrett came to visit, they reported to my family on my troubling addiction, recounting that I would hit the bottle for breakfast. But I continued to deny my problems… until Alor.
When I stopped to grab a quick drink and a bag of chips at the local shop, the owner gave me the normal Indonesian afternoon greeting with one rather unique touch: “Selamat siang, Mr. Coca Cola.” He had my Coke waiting for me, but I had to request a bag of chips.
That was odd, I thought to myself as I left. Mr. Coca Cola?
I strolled down the main thoroughfare in Kalabahi killing time before I headed down to the bay, and a friendly local waved to me from across the street and yelled, “Hello, hello, Mr. Coca Cola, hello, hello.”
Hmmm. My denial was starting to fade.
Later that evening, as I was riding my motorbike back from the bay, another bike shot by flashing its lights and I heard, “Sooooreeee, Coca Colaaaaaa!” Evening, Coca Cola.
Clearly, I have a problem.