Now picture me—rolling my eyes and looking pissed off. Because I had to track down the whereabouts of this miraculous drink as if it were the Holy Grail, and it seriously let me down. More than that, it left me bitter, in a heartbroken ex-lover “I trusted you” kind of way.
I had dragged myself to one of those exclusive vending machines (1/F, Windsor House); I dooted my Octopus card; I waited with anticipation; and then I finally dove in with faith.

At first, it looked like I was going to get my fairytale ending. There was a louder-than-usual click when I twisted open the plastic bottle cap. Instantly, the coke fizzled and started solidifying into ice crystals on the surface. But then it stopped short—like, 3 seconds later—with only a few pathetic clusters of ice gathered on top. Those anti-climatic ice bits melted within the next minute. I bought another bottle. Three tries later, I succumbed to the fact that the Super Chill...was super lame.

I wasn’t the only one who wasted precious moments of life on this. I dragged my poor husband down with me, and witnessed four other groups of people that will no doubt be regretting this on their deathbeds as well.

Perhaps I should’ve warned them. But instead, I watched with a sick sense of schadenfraude as they held their breaths in suspense, and then let out a high-pitched “ooh” or “aah” only to drop their voices into a disappointing and final “aww.”

We were all expecting more out of a company that was apparently responsible for giving Santa Claus his red coat (it all began, or so I’m told, when St. Nick donned his signature crimson gear for a Coke holiday campaign). The sheer genius and profit-thirsty ambition behind that piece of history alone tipped me to think that they were capable of creating something addictively cool. On the other hand, I still don’t know which senior marketing executive thought Coke Zero and Coke Light weren’t cannibalizing each other’s sales. Seriously, what’s the difference again?

Ah, well...it was a lesson I had learned before, and somehow forgotten. So many of the product launches in F&B these days end up being more shtick than substance. And this is especially true for the products launched in Asia, where customers are more likely to embrace with ignorant alacrity things picky Americans or Europeans would instantly dismiss.

The trick is to find that delicate balance between jaded cynic and gullible sensationalist. I’d like to tell you the side I fall on, but I’m a flip-flopper. I will, however, formally retract my capital letter excitement for now. I think I’ll keep it in the back pocket for a more deserving candidate.

Plus, people who write in caps are annoying.