Here are two:
called Goudchaux's. While we didn't shop there very often, we went every six weeks
to "cash in" our report cards. Goudchaux's rewarded every "A" with a nickel. Once we got our nickels, we went right to the center of the store in themain aisle and dropped
one into the small red shiny vending machine with the crank handle. (A Coke only cost
one nickel.) Out came the iciest, coldest Coke you've ever tasted. My mama would
walk around and shop until we were done. That was a great incentive for me to earn
those A's. A free Coke -- that was truly a celebration I looked forward to every report
card.
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When I was very young, my mom used to take me with her when she went to the
beauty parlor. The time was the late 60s, an era when most women visited the
beauty shop on a weekly basis. As I was too young to stay home alone, I had to go
with her. Needless to say, going to the beauty parlor was not my idea of a good
time. It was boring, the magazines weren't to my liking, and the whole place roared
from the din of numerous hair dryers -- those huge bee-hive types you sit under for
an hour at a time. I know mymom could carry on a conversation with the next lady
while they were both under those things, but I could barely hear myself think.
My mom soon learned that the best way to get me to behave was to buy me a Coke
from the vending machine. They came in small and large contour bottles and, being
a kid, I wanted as big of one as I could get (still do). I remember the cold feeling of
the bottle in my hand and the cold Coke caressing my arid throat, which was
parched from the dry, hot air emanating from all those hair dryers. If I was really
good (and my mom's hairdo time-consuming), I might get a second Coke. Man,
heaven.
I remember those days like they were yesterday. And every time I see a 10-ounce
contour bottle, I remember my mom, the beauty parlor and the times we spent
together.
Read more at Coca-Cola Stories.
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