The Southside Mini Mart sells a variety of energy drinks. Most of them come in tall-boy cans decorated to evoke images of great clawed beasts, roaring sports car engines and tight-trousered hair band lead guitarists.
Anyone can buy these giant cans of energy. I’ve seen twelve year old kids walk to the counter and set down a huge energy drink (called Volt or Jolt or Jitter or something) at 9:30 at night. Part of me wants to refuse the sale on the grounds that a twelve year old has no need for extra energy at 9:30 at night. But I have no authority for that sort of thing. I feel sorry for the parents.
Then I think that maybe the little scamp has no parents. Maybe he needs the energy so that he can shuffle to the train tracks (which the store is on the south side of) and hop on a boxcar. I envision the boy sitting in the rumble thump of the train under the web of stars vaulting the lands stretching out between the muddy great waters of the Mississippi and the vast blue of the Pacific. “God speed, my little Peachfuzz Hero of the Snowy West,” I say. “You need any smokes?”
There are energy supplements that you have to be eighteen to buy. These are the little bottles of 5 hour energy behind the counter. I tried one of these bottles last night to see what would happen. I tried it about half way through my shift- in case the “no crash” on the bottle was a lie. Here’s what happened:
5:49: I drink the bottle of 5 hour energy. “This American Life” is on the radio. I’m sad that I might negate the soothing effects of Ira Glass’s voice, but it’s in the interest of science.
5:53: I start to feel a little strange. I feel a little like I’m floating along next to my body.
5:55: My body slices a half pound of roast beef and a half pound of ham while I float around somewhere near the pop coolers.
6:01: My skin feels a little warm. I consult the bottle. It says that this is normal. Something in the drink makes the blood flow to the skin.
6:47: I am listening to a speech by Barack Obama while ringing people on the till at lightening speed. My fingers are a blur as I ring pack after pack of Marb lights.
7:03: I am seriously considering running for the Senate as I vacuum the front of the store twice.
7:20: Grover Cleveland enters the store and tells me I’m not cut out for a career in politics. He says, “beedle dee boop ding dong,” and exits through a central-air duct. I consult the bottle. Nothing about this.
8:13: I am starting to feel nauseated. Even the radio makes me feel a little queezy.
8:25: I am over the nausea. A serene feeling comes over me. An interview of Abraham Joshua Heschel from the 70’s is on the radio. I start to think that everything is going to be ok. I consider converting to Judaism.
8:45: I crash. I spend the rest of the evening swiping food stamp cards and looking morosely at the clock.
All in all, the 5 hour energy drink wasn’t worth it. It actually only lasted about 2 hours and 56 minutes and it made me fill ill for 12 minutes of that. It was like a bad coffee buzz. Even with the frequent bathroom breaks, I think I’ll stick with the 100% Colombian blend.
Disclaimer: Everything above is an accurate reflection of how I felt when I took the energy drink- except the part about Grover Cleveland. It was actually Taft.
Anyone can buy these giant cans of energy. I’ve seen twelve year old kids walk to the counter and set down a huge energy drink (called Volt or Jolt or Jitter or something) at 9:30 at night. Part of me wants to refuse the sale on the grounds that a twelve year old has no need for extra energy at 9:30 at night. But I have no authority for that sort of thing. I feel sorry for the parents.
Then I think that maybe the little scamp has no parents. Maybe he needs the energy so that he can shuffle to the train tracks (which the store is on the south side of) and hop on a boxcar. I envision the boy sitting in the rumble thump of the train under the web of stars vaulting the lands stretching out between the muddy great waters of the Mississippi and the vast blue of the Pacific. “God speed, my little Peachfuzz Hero of the Snowy West,” I say. “You need any smokes?”
There are energy supplements that you have to be eighteen to buy. These are the little bottles of 5 hour energy behind the counter. I tried one of these bottles last night to see what would happen. I tried it about half way through my shift- in case the “no crash” on the bottle was a lie. Here’s what happened:
5:49: I drink the bottle of 5 hour energy. “This American Life” is on the radio. I’m sad that I might negate the soothing effects of Ira Glass’s voice, but it’s in the interest of science.
5:53: I start to feel a little strange. I feel a little like I’m floating along next to my body.
5:55: My body slices a half pound of roast beef and a half pound of ham while I float around somewhere near the pop coolers.
6:01: My skin feels a little warm. I consult the bottle. It says that this is normal. Something in the drink makes the blood flow to the skin.
6:47: I am listening to a speech by Barack Obama while ringing people on the till at lightening speed. My fingers are a blur as I ring pack after pack of Marb lights.
7:03: I am seriously considering running for the Senate as I vacuum the front of the store twice.
7:20: Grover Cleveland enters the store and tells me I’m not cut out for a career in politics. He says, “beedle dee boop ding dong,” and exits through a central-air duct. I consult the bottle. Nothing about this.
8:13: I am starting to feel nauseated. Even the radio makes me feel a little queezy.
8:25: I am over the nausea. A serene feeling comes over me. An interview of Abraham Joshua Heschel from the 70’s is on the radio. I start to think that everything is going to be ok. I consider converting to Judaism.
8:45: I crash. I spend the rest of the evening swiping food stamp cards and looking morosely at the clock.
All in all, the 5 hour energy drink wasn’t worth it. It actually only lasted about 2 hours and 56 minutes and it made me fill ill for 12 minutes of that. It was like a bad coffee buzz. Even with the frequent bathroom breaks, I think I’ll stick with the 100% Colombian blend.
Disclaimer: Everything above is an accurate reflection of how I felt when I took the energy drink- except the part about Grover Cleveland. It was actually Taft.
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