“Gump, you have done it!” Alfred shouts, an begun poundin hissef on the knee with his fist an get so red in the face he looks like a beet. Them other fellers is holdin hands an jumpin up an down, an hollerin, too. Pretty soon the door to the experimental kitchen bust open, an there is a tall, gray-haired man standin there, lookin very distinguished in a dark blue suit.
“What is all this?” he ast.
“Sir, we have performed a miracle!” Alfred cries. “Gump, this is the chairman of the board and chief executive officer of CokeCola—go shake his hand.”
“What is the miracle?” the feller ast.
“Gump here has made the New Coke taste good!” says Alfred.
“Yeah? How you do that?” he ast.
“I dunno,” I says. “Just lucky I guess.”
Anyhow, a few days later, the CokeCola Company has arranged for a big preview tastin party to be held at their headquarters at Atlanta, an have invited about five thousan people consistin of press, politicians, socialites, stockholders, an other elite folks—even includin about five hundrit grade-school kids from around the city. Outside, big spotlights crisscross in the sky, an them what wadn’t invited were standin behind ropes wavin at them what was. Most everbody wearin tuxedos an ball gowns, an they is all millin aroun an makin small talk when suddenly a curtin on the stage is pulled back, an me an Alfred an Mrs. Hopewell an the president of CokeCola are standin there.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” says the president, “I have a momentous announcement to make.” Everbody get real quiet an be lookin straight at us.
“The CokeCola Company is proud to announce a new product that is gonna revitalize our bidness. As you know, CokeCola has been around for more than seventy years, an we have not once changed our original formula, because we figgered everbody liked CokeCola. But that is not the way of the nineteen-eighties. Everbody got to change sometime. General Motors changes about every three or four years. So does politicians. People change clothes once or twice a year...”
At this last remark, there is some low mumblin from the audience.
“What I meant was,” the president goes on, “that clothes designers change their product with great regularity—and just look at the money they make!”
He lets this sink in for a moment an then proceeds: “And so we here at CokeCola have decided to throw away our time-honored formula for CokeCola and try somethin different. ‘New Coke’ is what it is called, and we have to thank for this a brilliant young scientist, Forrest Gump, who has invented this amazing product! Now, right at your tables, our staff is passing out bottles and cans of New Coke for your enjoyment, but first, I think a few words from its inventor are appropriate. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Forrest Gump!”
He leads me to the speaker’s stand, an I am dumbfounded. I am so scared, what I am thinking is, I got to pee, but I ain’t gonna say it this time. Nope. So I just says, “I hope it is good,” an stepped back away from the microphone.
“Wonderful,” the president shouts when the applause dies down. “And now, let the tasting begin!”
All over the auditorium you can hear the sounds of cans poppin an bottles bein opened, an then you can see the people drinkin the new CokeCola. At first there is some ooohs and ahhs, an a few people be lookin at each other an noddin their heads. But then there come a cry from one of the little kids they has invited, says, “Ugggh! This shit is awful!” an spits it out. Then the other kids start doin the same thing, an in no time, seemed like everbody be spittin the New Coke on the floor an gaggin an cussin. Some people even spit it on other people, an this began to cause a disturbance out in the audience, an all of a sudden seems like a fight or somethin break out. Pretty soon, the people be thowin the cans an bottles of New Coke at us an at each other, too, an you can see all sorts of fists flyin an kickin an gougin, an tables turned over an all. Some of the ladies’ dresses be ripped off, an they gone screamin out into the night. Cameras be flashin an the TV people is tryin to capture it all on film. Me an the president an Alfred an Mrs. Hopewell are just standin on the stage, dodgin the bottles an cans, an we are sort of dumbstruck. Somebody shouts, “Call the police!” But I am lookin out at the crowd, an the police seem to be in the middle of everthin themselfs.
After a little bit, the whole thing spills out onto the street, an we hear a lot of sirens an so on. The president an me an Alfred an Mrs. Hopewell try to make our way out, but we get caught up in the thing, too, an it ain’t long fore Mrs. Hopewell’s dress is ripped off. We is covered with Coke an shit, an also with stuff from cupcakes an Moon Pies, which the CokeCola Company has thoughtfully handed out with the New Coke. Somebody shouts that the mayor of Atlanta has declared “a state of emergency,” on account of there is a riot, an afore it is all over, they has busted out all the winders on Peachtree Street an looted most of the stores, an a few people is now settin fire to the buildins.
We is all standin under the awnin outside the CokeCola headquarters when somebody recognize me, shouts, “There he is!” an before I know it, about a thousan people commenced chasin me, includin the president of CokeCola an Alfred an even Mrs. Hopewell, who is only wearin her underpants! This ain’t somethin I got to think about long! I start runnin fast as I can, across the Interstate an up hills an side roads, rocks an bottles landin all around me. Shit, seems like I been here before. Anyhow, I outrunned the mob, cause that is my specialty, but let me say this: It was scary!
Pretty soon, I found mysef on a ole two-lane highway leadin I knew not where, but along come a pair of headlights an I stuck out my thumb. The headlights stopped, an lo an behole, it was a pickup truck. I ast the driver where he was headed, an he say, “North, to West Virginia,” but that if I want a ride, I gotta ride in the back, account of he’s got a passenger in the front. I look over at the passenger, an damn if it weren’t a great big ole sow pig, must of weighed four hundrit pounds, settin there gruntin an pantin.
“This is a registered Poland China swine,” the feller say. “Name’s Gurtrude. Gonna make me rich one day, so she gotta ride in the cab. But you can bunk out in the back, there. Them other hogs is just common swine. Might root you around a little, but they don’t mean no harm.”
Anyhow, I got on the truck an away we went. They was about a dozen of them pigs in there with me, oinkin an squeelin an gruntin an all, but after a while they settled down an give me some livin space. Pretty soon it begun to rain. What I am thinkin is, I have had my ups an downs.
About sunup that next mornin the pickup done pull up at a truck stop, an the driver gets out an comes around to the back.
“Say,” he says, “you sleep okay?”
“Pretty good,” I answer. At this point I am lyin under a hog that is twice as big as me, but at least it kept me warm.
“Let’s go in an get a cup of coffee an somethin to eat,” he says. “By the way, my name’s McGivver.”
Outside the restaurant is a newspaper box with a copy of The Atlanta Constitution, headline says: MORON WOULD-BE INVENTOR CAUSES RIOT IN CITY.
The story reads somethin like this:
A sometime Alabama encyclopedia salesman who professed knowledge of a new formula for the CokeCola Company caused one of the most violent riots in Atlanta’s history yesterday when his scam was uncovered before several thousand of this city’s most prominent citizens.
The incident broke out at about 7 P.M. when Forrest Gump, an itinerant tinkerer and peddler of phony reference books, was introduced by the president of the CokeCola Company as having conceived a new brand of the nation’s favorite soft drink.