Face to face with my Coke addiction

I realized earlier this week that I have missed out on the single largest gravy train to come through the country in recent years. I haven't made millions by suing anyone.

Forget the minor personal-injury lawsuits for a paltry million dollars or so. The biggest money-maker is the class action lawsuit against an entire industry. Guns- and tobacco-related lawsuits were the big winners in the past few years; with the support of a few thousand other consumers, I want to go straight to the top and hit the soft-drink manufacturers.

The big soda makers are just crying out to be sued. For starters, they have lots of money to pay huge out-of-court settlements. Actually, that's the only reason I need, but my favorite fizzy beverage also has caused me several health problems, including cavities, increased urination and a brown tongue.

And emotional suffering. No, really.

I'm addicted to The Real Thing. I've been known to have three 20-ounce bottles in a single day. By the time I finish, I have reached hypertension Nirvana with a caffeine-and-sugar buzz that has me pacing the floor at 90 mph, completely unable to sit down and concern myself with earthly affairs, like work.

I have all the classic signs of an addict. If I go without my dose, my face takes on a drawn, strung-out look. I can't sleep late at night, even when I'm suffering from extreme fatigue.

Plain old water and other, healthier drinks just don't cut it for me; I even poured the cold fizzy on my breakfast cereal this morning to give Snap, Crackle and Pop a little more zing.

My performance at work is impaired because I can't stop craving the flavored brown acid, and I continually make excuses to cover up my addiction and the unexplained expenses at the supermarket.

"Why are there 23 trips to the Hillsborough ShopRite on our VISA bill?" my wife asked me as she held up the bill. "We didn't need that many groceries."

"Oh, well, you know how it is," I said, relieved she doesn't know about the trips to the soda machine at Kmart. "I bought a few things to share with people at the office."

I'm a victim of marketing strategies. When I was a child growing up outside Pittsburgh, Coke ran commercials in 1980 at the height of the Super Bowl XIV hysteria, featuring "Mean Joe" Greene of the Pittsburgh Steelers.

I've been duped by celebrity endorsements from people like Max Headroom and Bill Cosby. I mean, come on! If Bill Cosby thought Coke was "The Real Thing" and talked about how it often won the Pepsi Challenge, who was I to argue?

If Remington or Colt had run commercials on prime-time TV of Joe Greene shooting people on the other football team, or if Bill Cosby smoked a pack of Marlboros in the Huxtable family residence, parents groups would have thrown a fit. Why should Coke or the other soft drink giants be any different?

Worse, the soda pop industry is taking full advantage of my addiction. It looks like the old 50-cent cans are going the way of the dodo. They now cost 80 cents most places, and even the vending machines sell 20-ounce bottles, usually for $1. Luckily the one by the office charges only 75 cents.

And now apparently even that might change. An article I saw last year on CNN Financial News said Coca-Cola was considering investing in a device that would let individual machines change the price to match the temperature.

That way, when a really crippling heat wave hits like we had this past summer, the machine will anticipate the increased demand and raise the price to match. The hotter the day, the more expensive the drink. (Somehow I doubt they'll give it away during cold snaps, though.)

It's only reasonable to file a lawsuit. At the very least, any money I collect can help support my habit.