Soiled Beans

College cafeterias can often become testing grounds for new products. At least once or twice a school year, students arrive at Lowe Dining Hall only to find piles of free, oddly flavored chips or bottles of new, mysterious soft drinks in shiny new packaging; kids can take as many as they like, tell their friends, pass them along, do whatever. We're guinea pigs. Companies send out their new products to college campuses first because they know that we are the most powerful consumers of hip new junk food. We love this stuff as much as Pac Man loves white circles.

And so when we walked into the dining hall to find large coolers filled with silver-bullet cans of Starbucks coffee... I could have sworn it was Christmas. The drinks had come at a perfect time: kids are stopping by for dinner before retiring to their rooms to work on final projects and study for exams, they would need the energy that only coffee can attempt to bring. And, like moths to a sweater, we swarmed around the coolers, taking two, three, or eight cans of the stuff.

It was labeled "Starbucks Light Coffee" and was marked with a sky blue streak horizontally across the can. I was a little curious, having never seen something like this in the stores--but then again, that's why it was here. I'm sure you'll be seeing this stuff on the shelves in a few weeks, if it isn't there already. I had grabbed three cans and went back to my seat, before I had even gone into the main line to get my dinner. I would try it out, and if it was good, I would go back for some more (since it's not often that Starbucks can be found as an alternative to Aramark's despicable regular roast).

I cracked open a can and smelled it first. I then read the label quickly, just to make sure it didn't have poison in it. It claimed to be low on calories, made with skim milk instead of half & half, something I would normally object to... but if that was all that was wrong with it, I guess I would cope. I took a swig; it kind of tasted like Starbucks coffee, but there was something else to it. Something like the faint taste of pennies or laundry detergent. I had only taken one sip of the drink, and yet the aftertaste lingered on, a tell-tale heart of my acceptance of the experimental product. Why did I still taste it? What was that hint of metallic nastiness? I looked back at the can and saw what I had previously missed: Contains Splenda.

The bastards. They put Splenda in it! This coffee is made with Splenda! It might as well have been made of people! I looked around, and it seemed as if everyone in the cafeteria was taking a sip of the coffee at the same time... and collectively, their faces crinkled up and they held the can far away from them, as if a snake was peaking out the top. The students, all who had previously embraced this free caffeinated beverage, suddenly turned against it. Those who showed up too late to grab a can for themselves took a hit off of their friend's sample; their faces soon dawned the same expression.

It was a disaster. Soon everyone began ignoring the cans, refusing to drink any more. I could hear the echo of kids all saying the same drawn out word: Splllleeeeennnnda?! It was gross, and everyone knew it. Some were drinking it out of spite, knowing that they would need the energy boost, regardless of how it tasted. Not me, however. For as much as I love coffee--high quality coffee--this would not do. I pawned off my extra cans and never looked back.

Starbucks and Seton Hill tried to pull a fast one on us. Their new product, despite being free, failed to win over the hearts of the students. Those cans did contain poison: skim milk and Splenda, a combination so deadly that it could take out three ex-KGB agents in a single whiff. If you see the stuff in the stores, don't bother. And if you see someone picking up a can to drink it, smack it out of their hands... they'll thank you later.