Gump and Co. (Forrest Gump 2)

They led me down a long hall to a door marked Experimental Research Lab, Top Secret, Keep Out! When we gone inside, I like to fainted! They has set up a whole kitchen exactly like Mrs. Hopewell's, right down to the half-empty glasses where I had drunk the CokeCola.

"Everthing is right here, Gump, just like you left it back at Mobile," Alfred says. "Now, what we want you to do is just what you did when you fixed that CokeCola. Trace every step you took, and think real hard, because the fate of this whole company might be riding on it!"

To me, it seems a sort of unfair burden to shoulder. After all, I ain't done anythin but try to fix me somethin to drink. Anyhow, they put me in a big ole white smock, like Dr. Kildare or somethin, an I begun the experiment. First I take a can of the "new CokeCola" an put it in a glass with some ice cubes. I tasted it, just like I done at Mrs. Hopewell's, an it still taste like shit or whatever.

So I gone into the pantry, where all the stuff is on the shelves. Truth is, I can't remember exactly what I put in the CokeCola that might of improved it. But I went on anyhow an started mixin the shit up. All the time, four or five fellers be follerin me around, takin notes whenever I do somethin.

First I took a pinch of cloves an a dab of cream of tartar. Next I put in some root beer extract an meat tenderizer an popcorn cheese seasoning an added some blackstrap molasses an crab boil. After that I done opened a can of chili con carne an skimmed the little orange fat that floats around the top an put that in, too. An then I added a little bakin soda, for good measure.

Finally, I stirred the whole thing up with my finger, just like I done at Mrs. Hopewell's, an I took a big ole swig of it. Everbody be holdin their breaths an watchin me with they eyes all bugged out. I swished the stuff around in my mouth for a second, then said the only thing that come to mind, which was "Ugggh!"

"What's wrong?" one of the fellers ast.

"Can't you see he don't like it?" says another.

"Say, let me taste that," Alfred says.

He takes a drink an spits it out on the floor. "Christ! This shit is worse than the stuff we made!"

"Mr. Hopewell," one of the fellers says, "you spit that out on the floor. Gump spit his in the sink. We're losin control of the experiment."

"Yeah, well, all right," Alfred says, an he got down on the floor an wiped up the Coke with his handkerchief. "But that don't seem too important to me, where he spit it. Main thing is, Gump, we gotta get back to work."

So that's what we did. All that day an most of the night. I got so confused at one point I accidentally poured half a saltcellar in the CokeCola instead of garlic powder, which I thought might take some of the edge off the turpentine taste. When I drank it down, it made me half crazy for a while, like they say happens to people in lifeboats that drink seawater. Finally Alfred says, "Okay, I guess that's enough for today. But we gotta get back at this bright an early tomorrow mornin. Right, Gump?"

"I reckon so," I says, but I am figgerin we might be up against a hopeless cause.

All that next day an the next weeks an the next months that gone by, I done tried to fix the CokeCola. Didn't work. I put in cayenne pepper an Spanish saffron an vanilla extract. I used cumin an food colorin an allspice an even MSG. The fellers follerin me aroun had gone through about five hundrit notebooks by now, an everbody was gettin on everbody else's nerves. Meantime, at night I would go back to the big ole hotel suite where we was all stayin, an sure enough, there would be Mrs. Hopewell, loungin aroun in next to nothin. Couple of times she ast for a back rub an I give it to her, but when she ast for a front rub, that's where I drawed the line.

I am beginnin to believe this whole thing is a bunch of crap. They feed me an give me a place to stay, but I ain't seen no money yet, an that's why I am here, on account of I gotta take care of little Forrest. One night lyin in bed, I am wonderin what I'm gonna do, an start thinkin about Jenny an some of the good ole times, an all of a sudden, I see her face in front of me, just like I did at the cemetery that day.

"Well, you big bozo," she says. "Can't you figger this one out for yourself?"

"What you mean?" I ast.

"You ain't never gonna be able to make that stuff taste right. Whatever you did the first time was just a fluke or something."

"Well, what I'm gonna do, then?" I says.

"Quit! Leave! Go find yourself a real job, before you spend the rest of your life trying to do what's impossible!"

"Well, how?" I ast. "I mean, these people are countin on me. They says I am their only hope to save the CokeCola Company from rack an ruin."

"Screw em, Forrest. They don't care anything about you. They're just trying to save their jobs, and using you as a fool."

"Yeah, well, thanks," I says. "I guess you're right. You usually were."

An then she is gone, an I am alone again.

Next mornin I am up at the crack of dawn when Alfred come an got me. When we got in to the experiment kitchen, I gone through the motions of makin the CokeCola good again. Bout halfway through the day, I done mixed up a batch of some shit, but this time, when I drunk it down, instead of sayin "Uggh!" an spittin it out, I done grinned an says "Ahhhh!" an drunk down some more.

"What's that?" one of the fellers shouts. "He likes it?"

"I reckon I got it," I says.

"Praise the Lord!" hollers Alfred, an slaps himself in the forehead.

"Gimme that," says one of the other fellers. He takes a sip an sort of rolls it around in his mouth.

"Say, that ain't half bad!" he says.

"Let me taste it," Alfred says. He takes a swallow an gets a really funny look on his face, like he is goin through an unusual experience.

"Ahhhh!" Alfred says. "It is wonderful!"

"Let me have some, too," another feller asts.

"No, no, damnit!" Alfred says. "We gotta save this shit for chemical analysis. What's in this glass is worth billions! Do you hear me, billions!" He rushes out an calls in two armed guards an says for them to take the CokeCola glass to the vault an to guard it with their lives.

"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!"