Royal
Canadian
by Zach Smith
We had been driving through
the wooded hills of rural western Pennsylvania
and had been driving for a while. We were getting
hungry and tired and needed a little bit of a
break, and found this little diner... restaurant,
dive, greasy spoon, roadhouse, whatever you want
to call it.
It was later in the afternoon, and we were the
only people in the diner. It may have been close
to closing, just a breakfast-lunch sort of place.
But they sat us down at a booth anyway and didn't
seem to be rushing us out.
“What can I get you boys to drink?”
asked the Waitress.
They like to be called “Servers” for PC
reasons, but at a place like this, she was a
Waitress, and she would agree with that
identifier as much as anyone else would if we had
asked her, though we didn't.
“I'll have a coke,” I said.
I waited for the follow-up line, which often came
“Is Pepsi okay?”
But that's not what she said.
“We only have RC Products.”
“Really?” we all asked at once.
She nodded her head.
We agreed to the RC, and she went off to get our
drinks.
“You don’t see that every day,”
said Justin. “Only RC products?”
“RC is actually my preferred choice,” I
said. “That’s the Canadian soft drink.
It stands for a Royal Canadian.”
“Why would it be Royal Canadian?” Asked
Willie Rice Jr. “There is no King of Canada.”
“Sure there is,” I said.
“What?” he asked.
“Canada is part of the Commonwealth of
Nations,” I said. “The King of England
is the King of Canada.”
“How do you know this stuff?” Asked
Willie Rice Jr. “Why would you have this
knowledge?”
“I know everything,” I said.
“Oh really,” said Willie Rice Jr.
“What’s Justin’s shoe size?”
“Twelve,” I said.
“Wow,” said Justin.
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