The Cautionary Tale of Club Soda

Club Soda stood there pondering on the internal bubbles and the external tears. If he kept crying ever so, would his bubbles go away? “Why does standing here make me cry?” questioned Club Soda to no one in general. “Perhaps these are not tears and I simply misunderstand the word.”

Club Soda decided that he needed to find out for sure so he went to ask Salt and Pepper Shaker, for they appeared to be the most distinguished and knowledgeable couple of the land. Surely they know the truth because didn’t all mounds of knowledge hold a salty grain of truth or some nonsense like that?

He thought not to think about that anymore and stopped doing so as he knocked upon the woodworks of the Shaker residence. He noticed he was crying even more in this wretched sun, wondering indeed how long his inner fizzies would sustain under such harsh conditions, for he was starting to believe that the fizzies would lessen as the exterior tears grew more abundant.

Salt answered the door and looked extremely cross and bitter. In heated words, she was able to explain to Club Soda that Pepper had taken his hat off to do some exercises that morning when he toppled, spilling large amounts of his inner contents on the shag carpeting. Club Soda was slightly glad to hear that such an incident had occurred because of the situation he was feeling – that which comprised of his inner fizzies and his tears of either joy or sorrow. Salt wanted to hear none of it because she had to get to cleaning up Pepper’s innards.

Deciding to leave the domestic dispute, Club Soda opted to meander in the town square courtyard until he came across someone who might know what was happening to him. After meandering and swapping one park bench for another, Club Soda huffed heavily and conceded defeat.

Then, as he was pivoting his glassy form onto West Street, he spied the coolest of men: Root Beer. What was nifty about Root Beer was that he was in his own bottle while people like Club Soda were always poured into pre-formed glasses with ice added – “on the rocks” is over-rated. Club Soda wished he was Root Beer but only briefly because he saw in an instant that Root Beer was also crying on the outside.

What would a freshly bottled guy like Root Beer have to cry about? Was he losing his fizz as well? Club Soda decided not to pass up such an opportunity and tottered towards Root Beer.

What Club Soda had not noticed was that Root Beer still had his hat on, which baffled Club Soda to no end. Pepper lost his contents when his lid was off and, being in a glass with quickly shrinking ice cubes, Club Soda assumed it had to do with being capless.

But here was Root Beer, capped, crying, and whistling. Oh, yes indeed, Root Beer was whistling so maybe those were tears of joy, if ever the word were undefined. “Excuse me, Root Beer.” Root Beer halted for Club Soda but only to see the tiny cubes within Club Soda move around as if independent of life.

“Yes, urm... Yes?”

“Root Beer,” began Club Soda rather hesitantly. He couldn’t believe he was talking to Root Beer! “Um, I was wondering about why you were crying.”

Root Beer looked perplexed. “Crying? I am not crying!”

Club Soda was shocked. What was going on? “Then what’s going on?” he asked frantically while gesturing wildly to the beads of water that quickly progressed towards the ground on both men’s exteriors.

Root Beer chuckled a little and Club Soda felt a brief glint of anger. What was so funny? “Mr. Glass Drink, this is sweat. It happens to drinks like us because we are forced to stand at all times – which is tough work, mind you.”

Club Soda was even more perplexed now. “We sweat? But, I was able to sit on those benches and I still sweated like a baby Sprite!” Root Beer chuckled even more and Club Soda could have sworn that he felt an inner cube crack.

“That’s because you, both of us, are also in the sun. It causes us to sweat.”

“But will my inner fizz go away because of it? I really like the fizz.”

“No, Club Soda. The fizz goes away on its own, especially for an uncapped man such as yourself.” Club Soda frowned at that. “At least with me,” Root Beer said while stroking his cap, “I will not lose it as quickly.” He flipped Club Soda a thumbs-up, said, “Stay cool,” and brushed past him, chuckling once more.

That was the last drinking straw for Club Soda, who quickly hobbled after Root Beer, tore his cap off (it almost felt like it was clamped on!), and threw it across the courtyard, hitting a jingle bear and three sugar plum fairies. Root Beer was horrified and shrieked like a dying elephant. “We’ll see how long you keep your fizz without your cap, Chuckles!”

Then, Club Soda turned and hobbled away quickly, sweating even more in the process. He accidentally tripped over Root Beer’s cap (the jingle bear had tossed it in a blind rage) and spilled all of his contents, watching the little fizzies and tiny cubes soak into the green grass of the courtyard.

“At least,” thought Club Soda before the final drops evaporated from his immobile form, “At least… I will not sweat... anymore.” He then passed away and the glassy shell left behind was adopted by Salt and Pepper Shaker to be used as storage space.

The moral of the story is this: Worrying about what is on the outside will only drive you to the point of eventually losing what is on the inside. That, and don’t piss off a jingle bear.

Word Count: 978