Orange You Glad to See Me?

By Jim Hagarty

I am going to come right out and say it. Enough with holding it in. I hate Fanta orange pop.

Somebody got the brilliant idea to combine the urine of a mongoose with the sweat from an elephant’s ass, add some colouring and presto chango, the worst pop in Creation was Created. The difficulty this has caused in my life stems from the fact that I love orange pop. But someone in my family made the tragic mistake of bringing home a whole case of Fanta this summer and I have been traumatized. If the ridiculous stuff would take the rust off my bicycle rims like Coke does, I might use it for that, but, of course, it doesn’t. I guess the only good thing about it is the employment it gives to the mongoose and elephant populations of the world.

In my sadness and frustration, I have been forced to hang around my favourite hotdog stand this summer and getting tired of Coke, one day I asked for a glass of orange fountain pop. From the first sip, I knew I had found the Holy Elixir.

I have returned several times, as much for the orange pops as the hotdogs, and have spent many pleasant evenings with what have become my two favourite things to ingest. (And no, I do not subscribe to Health Food Monthly, thanks for asking.)

With the family all away at suppertime again tonight, I turned my car towards Hot Dog Heaven and walked up to the order window.

“I would like a regular hotdog, ketchup and relish only, and a small orange pop,” I told the nice young man peering out of the hole in a concrete wall at me.

“So, a regular dog and a Fanta,” he said to me.

“What’s that now?” I asked.

“Regular dog and a Fanta?”

“I guess,” I said.

The hotdog was great. Better than ever.

Pop seemed a little flat.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 65-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don't deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather's blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.

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