The Darkside, Drinking It In

I was late coming to many of the beverage vices. Teen drinking of alcohol didn't begin until the relatively late age of 18...on graduation night. And even then, it was only the better half of a plastic jug full of flavored wine cooler. I don't remember even feeling all that buzzed. The real drinking didn't begin in earnest until the next year, when my career of hard-core imbibing kicked off with that wild summer in Casa-U-Betcha on NW 21st in Portland. My older, more drink-savvy friend, Brenda (age 22) introduced me to the pleasures of Long Island Iced Teas, making out with bar staff and joy riding at 4:00 in the morning before barfing my lungs out in whatever city park we ended up in. Classy.

As for the devil's brew, otherwise known as java, it wasn't until well after I'd managed a coffee shop in Kansas City before I began sipping on that particular mug of caffeination. My return to college at age 26 prompted a confrontation with late nights, cramming sessions and the intense need for stimulants to keep the midnight oil burning. And so, coffee entered the menu of my life.

The final hold out was perhaps the most insidious of them all. After years of in-your-face marketing campaigns and witnessing cracked-out 12 year olds careening recklessly through the food-courts of America, I have finally succumbed. Coffee is no longer providing the jolt of adrenaline I so desperately need while I am in the midst of the final two weeks of the thesis. I needed to kick it up a notch, find a level of legally permissible speed-like high to get the job done. Today, resistance was futile. I drank my first entire can of Red Bull.

The result of which was the opposite of what I had hoped for. The taste was not unpleasant. I am a sucker for the sweets, and Red Bull gives it in spades. But as for the promised hit of energy, surge of focus and all the rest...nada. Instead, I became inexplicably tired. It was as if my elevated sugar consumption of late had raised my tolerance for the blast of glucose that hit my veins and instead of bolstering me, it merely missed the mark and fell flat. Sadly, I lost focus entirely and had to leave the library for a nap.

I contemplated storming the grocery store in which I had bought the failed energy drink and demanding my money back, but knowing that they deal almost exclusively with a student clientele, I knew what the response would be, hardly a a few coins given courteously back with a sincere apology for their product's shortcomings. I also thought briefly of writing a strongly-worded complaint letter to Red Bull HQ, but then realized if they even cared to respond, I might end up with a palette of the stuff delivered to my door and where would that leave me? Probably entering either a cardio-unit inside of a month or at the least, attending RBA (Red Bull Anonymous) meetings and sharing my story of new found addiction. And as an only child, I hate sharing.

I don't know what's left to me. I suppose I'll just have to stick to water, laced with cocaine.