The House of Wigs #1

I am now living in a new state. They have Snapple everywhere here. EVVVVVRRRRRYWHERRRRRRE. Imagine I’m Gary Oldman in The Professional saying that, my neck-veins standing out as I mega-emote in my wrinkled khaki suit. Hold that image in your mind like a precious jewel. Watch it glimmer. Are you seduced by its timeless beauty? Do you find your thoughts turning to it when you should be focused on your PowerPoint presentation or faking an orgasm? A-HA! I KNEW IT!

Anyway, my theory is the Snapple Factory is somewhere nearby, so they’re able to glut the local markets with product. There’s shit I’ve never even heard of before: Black Pirate Tea, Mango-Cinnamon, PMS Tea With Kiwi. It’s like my taste buds have finally committed suicide and gone to some fictional heaven-analogue where new taste sensations are created by mating flavors at random.

There are at least three Snapple machines here at my new job. They’re like candy machines where you watch your special treat get released and dropped a few feet, except these are glass bottles and make a frightful noise when they hit, but not a broken-glass sort of noise as you might expect. Up on the top floor the machine is tricked out with Kris’ Mix-Up, the half-iced-tea-half-lemonade (at first I typed “half-iced-teat” — oh I wish!) concoction that is pretty much my favorite thing to drink in general. I’ve only seen Kris’ Mix-Up once before, in a little diner near Plymouth, Mass. Will its sudden drop in rarity make it less special to me? Less delicious? Will I come to take it for granted by chugging a half-dozen bottles every day? I do not know, but that is an experiment I tend to see through to the bitter end.