I can remember many firsts in my life; the first time I had sex, the first time I got a "C" in school, even the first time I recognized sarcasm for the glorious invention it is. I can't, however, recall the first time I chewed gum. I imagine my first piece was some long pink rectangle made hard from being stuck to baseball cards all summer. Or, maybe it was a fruity Bubbalicious treat gifted me by my mother in exchange for my silence at a check-out stand.
Try as I might though, I can't pinpoint that inaugural flavorblast; that initial smackdown. Seems sad considering how long I've been chewing gum. I've smacked the good stuff since before the big gum trends of the 00's. Before the the introduction of the trendy, but eventually pointless, flavor crystals. Before the watermelon-slash-tangerine mashups. Way before the updated plastic pop-out-the-back packaging.
I'm a Wrigley's kid--the classic man's gum. But only with the original packaging. Unwind the red ribbon at the top and there they are; twenty tinfoiled soilders standing in a row, awaiting there next mission. A tightly packed silver platoon, asking What Do You Need?! Fresh breath? Something to tide you over until lunch? An oral disguise so your boss doesn't suspect your smoking?
I'm not saying I don't venture into the new gum crazes of the day. I enjoy the juicy combos from Orbitz and Stride like everybody else. And, let's be honest, at 2am at the bar I'd consider chewing black licorice bubblegum from a 20-year-old CrackerJack box if I thought it'd get me laid.
But, all things considered, nothing transports me like the taste of a Wrigleys. All other gums seem cluttered. A stick of Wrigleys makes me think of my hometown. Makes me feel like a grown man rather than a kid on a sugar high. Makes me wish it was the first stick of gum I had ever tasted. And who knows, it very well may have been.
