Diet Coke
Running errands is no different than running. I prefer to not.
As a child, I could get out of Sunday errands. Because I was essentially useless. I couldn’t drive. I had no money. And I didn’t know what kind of milk to buy. The only thing I could offer was my company, which, depending on the Sunday, could range from indifferent to a liability.
As a highly functional adult, it’s different. You can’t escape Sunday errands. I’ve tried. I’ve tried it all. Delivery apps. Outsourcing to my girlfriend, Kwell. Lighting myself on fire.
It took me 29 years to find an effective defense strategy for running errands. To my knowledge, the only one in existence.
Diet Coke.
Pre-sip of a Diet Coke, I am a monster. Post-sip, I am a willing chauffeur. No one is happier about this discovery than Kwell, the queen of Sunday errands. She used to hear non-stop critiques. The traffic. The squeaky wheel on the cart. The people dressed like they’re going to a sleepover instead of a grocery store. Now, she hears the rattling of ice followed by a slurp and an involuntary “ahh.”
On this particular Sunday, I convinced Kwell to go through McDonald's for a Diet Coke before embarking on our journey. She hates the thought of giving a cent to the Clown. Almost as much as she hates running errands with me without a Diet Coke in my hand.
The drive-through line was seven cars deep. Unusual for 2:48p. But nothing to be alarmed about. I turned up the music and started playing the steering wheel.
When our turn arrived, I played my part, opposite the speaker box.
"One medium and one large Diet Coke please."
Kwell gets a medium. I've explained to her that all sizes at McDonald's are the same price, so it really makes sense to upsize in this case. She prefers the medium. I love her because (not in spite) of decisions like this.
"Oh, we're out of Diet Coke. We could get you some Diet Doctor Peppers?"
The words coming from the speaker box were grenades landing in my car. Out. Of. Diet. Coke. Doctor. Pepper?
I started to panic.
"You... I... Well... Do you think you'll have some soon?"
"Do I think we'll have some in soon?" The speaker box was confused now.
"Yeah, you know, should I pull around to one of those waiting spots?"
"Honey, it might be weeks. I have no idea when we'll get more."
I sped away. I didn't mean to. But up was down. Gas was brakes. Before I knew it, I was turning out of the parking lot onto a crowded street. Cars whizzed by. One honked.
Kwell understood the direness of the situation, already thumbing around the maps app.
"There's a Wendy's nearby," she blurted.
"Nav me there," I commanded.
The rush settled into a sort of disbelief as we pulled into the Wendy's drive-through line. The music was still playing, but I couldn't hear it. I was living in an alternate universe. One where McDonald’s didn’t have Diet Coke on a Sunday errands afternoon. There had been a glitch in the simulation.
"One medium Diet Coke and one large Diet Coke. Please."
"Pull around," the speaker box instructed.
Kaitlyn handed me a five dollar bill and I handed it to the Wendy's employee.
"I need 28 more cents."
"Oh, we just had the two Diet Cokes."
"Mmhmm. I need 28 more cents."
"It's five twenty eight for two Diet Cokes?" I asked while forking over loose change.
"Guess so. Would you like to donate a dollar to the Wendy's Foundation?"
"Not today." I pulled forward to the second window. The window that mattered.
Two Diet Cokes were handed to me. And I handed them to Kwell. She knows her role in this ritual. Get the Diet Cokes settled into their cup holders and insert the straws as quickly as possible. We treat drive throughs like pitstops. It’s about shaving fractions of seconds.
I took a sip, more ready than usual to be transformed into the pleasant version of myself.
Flat. Tasteless.
I took another sip to confirm.
"Flat," I said. "Tasteless."
"Oh shit," Kwell whispered. "It is."
She started searching her phone for another nearby potential. But I knew what needed to be done. We couldn’t risk another disappointment. We needed the guarantee only a 12-pack of cans could provide.
I dropped off Kwell at the front of a grocery store. For the safety of the public, I didn’t go in. I lapped the parking lot while waiting for my bubbly medicine.
Kwell had the endurance to proceed with Sunday errands after such an experience. I retreated home.
Nine Sundays later, I was still thinking about that McDonald’s speaker box. I walked into a corner store and bought a Diet Doctor Pepper.
I now know two effective defense strategies for running errands.