The Tires Are Flat But The Coke Is Not

About a week before my 21st birthday, I was driving out in the country and I blew not one, but both tires on my passenger side. A piece of metal from some farm equipment chewed through my tires and I only had one spare. 

I had to walk five miles to get to a place that had a payphone; this was 30 years ago and before cell phones were popular. I ended up finding a bar. I went in and called my grandfather to come and get me so we could get some new tires. But where I was, it was going to be an hour before he could get to me. After walking in the hot August sun, I was thirsty, so I headed to the bar and asked if I could buy a Coke. I knew they had them as they were in the glass-front fridge, presumably for mixed drinks. 

The bartender refused me. I tried to argue, saying that I only wanted a soda as I was hot. He refused me again since I was underage. 

I don’t know the laws in the area, so he may have been within his rights or may just have been a jerk, but in either case, I was hot, thirsty, and fuming mad because he refused to even offer me a glass of water. 

A week later, I turned 21. I took the day off of work to get my ID updated and that night I went to the bar. 

I walked in holding my new license that showed I was now 21 and the bartender beamed at me and asked what he could get me, now well willing to serve me.

I simply said, “My f****** Coke.”