The guy who ran the old soda fountains at the old diners used to be called a Soda Jerk. And I know, deep down, they named it for the motion, but what if they didn’t? What if somewhere there was the archetypical man who served soda at a pharmacy?

“Yeah, what do you want?” The Soda Jerk asks.

“Hello, Mr. Master,” says the eight year old. “I want a root beer.”

“Who’s asking?”

“You did, sir.”

“Huh,” the Soda Jerk says and pours about a fifth of root beer as if it were whiskey and charges for eight of them and then throws it, glass and all, at the kid’s face. The Soda Jerk.

Like Chevy Chase armed with high-pressured sugar water. Like a fireman gone mad with cane. Like Willy Wonka starring Bob Saget.

The Soda Jerk.