“Fresh goes better! Mentos freshness!
Fresh goes better with Mentos, fresh and full of life!”
We had a reporter leave the paper on Thursday. The departure was long expected, I am told, and there was the standard final two-week notice so no one was caught off guard.
In my limited experience, this reporter was a person who was especially prone to spontaneous laughter and randomly quoting commercials.
One of the more commonly cited commercials she would reenact was of “Mentos, the Freshmaker!”
A couple weeks back, after another Mentos recitation (complete with a holding up of the candy and a cocked head smile), someone mentioned the urban legend that Mentos, mixed with soda, will create a geyser effect of cascading bubbles. The internet was cited as an alleged source, but admittedly seen as suspect.
Nevertheless, our course of action was obvious.
“You, get the Mentos! You, get the soda! We’ll meet back in the conference room!”
We all laughed, but didn’t follow through. Ever so often the reporter would play Freshmaker again, and someone would remark that we really need to try it out, but time passed and nothing happened.
With the reporter leaving, I decided that a frothy farewell would be a fitting way to say goodbye and would also settle our long bristling curiosity (after all, we’re journalists – we’re supposed to investigate stuff like this).
When the reporter got to her desk on her final day, among the cards and other tokens of best wishes, was a liter of cola and a fresh pack of strawberry Mentos.
The day moved slowly in anticipation of our friend’s departure and our excitement concerning the expected the sudsy soda explosion.
There were some distractions, however. There was a penguin-designed “we’ll miss you cake” – and the subsequent argument over the carving of the bird (“I want the penguin’s head!”). There was a “badbye” card to sign (which you give to a person you hate to see leave, as opposed to a goodbye card you give to a person who’s desk you can’t wait to raid). Also, another reporter was having a wedding anniversary. Most people didn’t know this until seven vases of flowers were dropped off (the last two were a collection of red roses – one for each year of marriage).
Despite the observation that “Someone feels guilty about something,” it seemed to be a sweet sign of affection (though there was a tricky operation getting so many flowers up and down the stairs of the newsroom).
Somewhere in there I guess we put out a paper, because I don’t recall getting many complaints the next day, but frankly I don’t really remember that part of the day.
Note: I don’t want people to think we simply threw together this bubbly concoction. Much time was spent doing research on the subject and preparing the proper supplies.
When people would ask us what we were doing, we would proudly show them the scientific documentation (internet printoff), the pile of pink Mentos and our paper funnel.
Some people contested our methods.
“Doesn’t the paper say you should use a two-liter of soda?”
“We cut the Mentos into fourths to account for that. Also that was the biggest container I could buy on my walk to work.”
“Doesn’t it say you should use Diet Soda.”
“If you look farther down the documentation, you will see that it says regular will also work, even if not as well as diet. Unfortunately I had not completed my research before making my purchases.”
The fact that I weighed using strawberry Mentos versus sour Mentos never came up, but still a heavily made decision.
A buzz grew around the project as others learned what was being planned. People would come up to the largely empty desk and see the neatly arranged materials (except for the shards of Mentos that had been launched around the room when being cut by a pair of scissors) and ask what was going on.
Even those outside the original plotters were quick to share the news:
“Tell them about the explosion in the parking lotthey’re planning.”
“SCIENCE EXPERIMENT!”
“Explosion has such a poor connotation…”
One reporter even called his wife to let her know that he would be late due to the explosive project that was being planned. She took such news so well that she even came by the paper for the liquid aloha.
Finally, everything was done – the stories were finished, the front page sent to the image setter, and our boss said she was willing to bail us out should the cops stop us. I said I hoped she was joking, but appreciated the sentiment.
With our rallying call, “It’s Operation Mentos Day,” we headed out to the parking lot.
After much indecision, and literal passing of the pop, we picked the open side street that goes around the back of the paper. The cola was opened and the Mentos quarters were readied.
According to our scientific documentation, the record was 16 feet. Since we were working with a one-liter diet soda, and had an unpracticed hand concerning the pouring of the Mentos (which the paper warned was the hardest part of the process), our expectations were a bit lower.
When our group braced ourselves and the Mentos designate (or guy left holding the funnel) did his thing, there was a pop, a cry of excitement from the crowd, and no more than an 18-inch spout of soda.
All things said and done, I would say it was perfect… though if we were to do it again there is already talk of doing so with greater quantities of pop and Mentos, having a more intricate dispersal system, and possibly using dissolved CO2.
We try to learn from our mistakes, and use the information to possibly make grander, even more dangerous mistakes. Look for the outcome on an upcoming obituary page.
