People are predictable. Kids like me -- and by "kids like me," I of course mean young adults of vaguely-indie, vaguely-artsy, vaguely-pretentious persuasions -- all like the same things. This is the first installment in what I expect will be a regular series that examines the things that we like-minded people enjoy. For example, I present:
The Hi-C Ecto Cooler.
Anyone in and around my demographic can fully appreciate its cultural importance. It was a greedy, money-hungry attempt to cash in on the popularity of Ghostbusters, slapping a bastardized image of Slimer on the package to push product -- but these kind of politics didn't matter at the age of 8.
The cafeteria hierarchy of juice boxes said a lot about a person, and not only of their value as a beverage connoisseur, but also of their value as an individual.
Minute Maid and Juicy Juice were nice, safe choices, if not a little boring. Students who drank this tended to not have any strong opinion on anything one way or the other.
Kool-aid fulfilled an essential dietary need for young children: fruit juice that didn't include any actual fruit in it. Ice cream sandwiches didn't grow from the Earth; ergo, anything that did grow from the Earth must be its exact, diametrical opposite and couldn't possibly be good.
Soda was only drank by bullies (and, perhaps, future diabetics). It was best to steer clear of these kids. And interestingly, it was the soda-drinkers who never had guardians come on Open House night, or for PTA meetings, or for parent-teacher conferences. I realize now, looking back in retrospect, anyone who brought Mountain Dew to school invariably came from a broken home, most likely one with a history of domestic abuse. This is established fact, I'm sure.
Capri Sun and Squeeze-Its were ultra-hip because, technically, they weren't juice boxes at all. One was a pouch and the other was a plastic bottle, respectively. It was the most cutting-edge of lunchbox technology. This proved you to be a radical, counterculture free-thinker. You very literally thought outside the box. But your hipster points were automatically deducted if you had to have a teacher help you open your Capri Sun (the tip was to make the initial puncture quick and decisive; any waffling on your part resulted in a dulled point at the tip of your straw).
And if you drank Mott's, you were a bitch-ass Momma's boy.
But nothing outranked Ecto Coolers. It tasted good. It had a beloved, recognizable fictional character on the front. It took two great things -- refreshments and Ghostbusters -- and combined them; even at that young age, we understood the appeal of killing two birds with one stone. It didn't necessarily guarantee cool, but it certainly solidified it.
These days, it's reached ultimate cult status. It's one of those rare cultural phenomenons that transcend racial, gender, musical, and political divides. Upon mere mention, it invokes immediate nostalgia. It is universally loved. It's become something of a social fail-safe; anytime you're at a party or on a date or hanging out with friends (assuming we're dealing with 20-something year olds here) and the conversations hits an uncomfortable lull, you can ask "Hey, remember when everyone used to drink Ecto Coolers?" This will undoubtedly spark at least another half hour of spirited discourse.
I don't much drink sugary drinks these days, but if it were still around, I'd make an exception.
