🧃 What Were They Drinking?! (Part 2)
Part Two of 'Oops, We Made It Worse' (Part 2 of 7 Part Series)
Previous & Top of the Series: 🧯 Oops, We Made It Worse (Part 1)
Part Two of 'Oops, We Made It Worse' (Part 2 of 7 Part Series)🧃 What Were They Drinking?!
The Beverage Hall of Shame, Vol. 2
Carbonation. Innovation. Regret.
Let’s get fizzy.
This is the part where marketing said, “We need a drink that screams disruption”—and the lab team said, “Hold my bacon soda.”
Welcome back to Oops, We Made It Worse, a thoughtful exploration of what happens when collaboration goes sideways and innovation skips the reality check. Before we uncork these carbonated calamities, I want to highlight something more constructive: my upcoming book, Collaborate Better.
This book is your field guide to building truly effective teams, nurturing bold ideas, and creating a career path grounded in clarity, trust, and purpose. It’s engaging, empowering, and rooted in real-world lessons—designed to help leaders, contributors, and visionaries alike navigate the modern workplace with more confidence and less chaos. Subscribe here to follow its journey from draft to bookshelf and get early insights along the way.
Now. Let’s pop the cap.
🥒 Pepsi Ice Cucumber: Cool Like a Casket
In the summer of 2007, Pepsi Japan launched what they hoped would be a revolutionary seasonal drink: Pepsi Ice Cucumber. The idea? Blend the crisp coolness of cucumber with the zing of cola for a refreshingly "icy" twist perfect for beating the heat. It was a bold attempt to marry the healthy halo of cucumber water with Pepsi's carbonated swagger. They even described it as "a breezy, refreshing experience"—as if a cucumber had casually wandered into a nightclub.
The problem? No one asked for a cucumber to join the soda party.
Instead of a revitalizing spa-in-a-bottle moment, what consumers got was a fizzy green fluid that tasted like the ghost of a salad. Or perhaps more accurately, like someone faxed a cucumber and then tried to carbonate the printout. The flavor was described in blogs and forums as "cold disappointment," "minty confusion," and in one case, "like licking a cucumber-scented air freshener that’s been left in a hot car."
Sales fizzled. Reviews were brutal. And Pepsi quietly shelved the idea, perhaps realizing that there’s a difference between innovative and unhinged.
Lesson: Just because cucumbers are refreshing in spa water doesn’t mean they belong in soda. Or your marketing budget.
🌠💫🚀🧋 Orbitz: The Lava Lamp You Could Drink (But Shouldn’t)
In the technicolor haze of the late '90s, beverage companies were scrambling to stand out on crowded shelves. Clearly Canadian—best known for its sparkling water—wanted in on the innovation game. Their answer? Orbitz: a drink that looked like someone crossed fruit juice with a lava lamp.
Suspended inside the clear liquid were neon-colored, gelatinous spheres that floated in perfect defiance of gravity. It was part drink, part science experiment, part alien artifact. Orbitz was marketed as "a texturally enhanced alternative beverage," with flavors like Pineapple Banana Cherry Coconut and Raspberry Citrus. You were supposed to feel like you were sipping the future.
And at first glance, it worked. Orbitz stood out in every fridge case it entered. Kids were mesmerized. Adults were curious. And novelty-loving retailers gave it primo shelf space.
But then people actually drank it.
The flavor? Vaguely citrus. The texture? Described by consumers as "chewy pudding bubbles floating in weird shampoo water," "like swallowing tiny eyeballs," and, in one particularly devastating review, "Tapioca’s ugly cousin who shouldn’t have been invited to the barbecue."
Sales quickly plummeted. Consumers were united by one question: Why does my drink need a texture? Orbitz faded fast, living on only in Reddit threads, YouTube taste tests, and the back corners of novelty collector cabinets.
Lesson: Gimmick drinks need substance—or at least a flavor that doesn't taste like haunted Tang.
🎯 Innovation Without a Persona Poll
Which of these likely happened in the product meeting?
🥤 “It’s a lifestyle beverage!”
👨👦 “We tested it on my cousin, he said it slaps.”
🧋 “Millennials love textures, right?”
🚀 “Let’s launch first and figure out the audience later.”
🧠 “What’s an Ideal Customer Profile?”
🥓 Bacon Soda: The Swine Flu of Soft Drinks
In the early 2010s, bacon was having a cultural moment. It wasn’t just a breakfast staple—it was a lifestyle. Bacon bandages. Bacon air fresheners. Bacon lip balm. If you could slap cured pork fat on it, someone had. So, naturally, the folks at Jones Soda asked the one question no one else dared: “What if bacon… but carbonated?”
Enter Bacon Soda: a fizzy, brown liquid bottled in limited runs and unleashed on the public like a dare disguised as a drink. Marketed with the same ironic edge Jones was known for, the soda wasn’t exactly meant to be delicious—it was meant to be talked about. Gag gift? Definitely. Cultural commentary? Possibly. Beverage people would willingly consume more than once? Not so much.
The flavor? Imagine licking a burnt frying pan while huffing liquid smoke—and then someone adds carbonation as an afterthought. Early taste testers described it as "grease-forward," "a crime scene in a bottle," and "like drinking the ghost of breakfast past."
Bacon Soda was quickly relegated to novelty shelves, prank gift baskets, and regret-filled YouTube reaction videos. It’s still sold occasionally online, mostly to people trying to win bets or punish their taste buds.
Lesson: Some things should remain solid. And uncarbonated.
🦃 Turkey & Gravy Soda: The Liquid Holiday No One Wanted
Digging deeper into the fizzing vault of misguided flavor decisions, we find ourselves in the early 2000s, when Jones Soda had fully embraced its role as the court jester of the beverage world. Their marketing strategy? Flavor anarchy. So when the holidays rolled around, someone at Jones said, probably with a straight face, “What if we bottled Thanksgiving dinner?”
The result: Turkey & Gravy Soda. It was part of their limited-edition holiday pack, a novelty set that included other fever-dream flavors like Green Bean Casserole, Cranberry, and even Mashed Potatoes & Butter. The goal was clear—don’t just remember the holidays. Drink them.
In theory, it was an offbeat way to celebrate the season, complete with quirky packaging and a wink to weird-food enthusiasts. In reality? It was culinary cosplay gone too far.
The taste? Imagine salty, lukewarm broth with a weirdly oily finish, punctuated by hints of synthetic sage and despair. Reviewers likened it to "licking a canned soup label," "gravy-flavored cough syrup," and "what regret might taste like if you carbonated it."
To be fair, some consumers did appreciate the audacity, treating it like a party dare or holiday prank. But for most, one sip was plenty. And that sip was often followed by a face that could ruin Christmas cards.
Lesson: Nostalgia isn’t a flavor. Neither is “meat-syrup.”
🎁 The Collector’s Curse
Not every failed beverage disappears quietly. Some get a second life as collector’s items, reanimated by nostalgia, irony, and the unexplainable urge to own things that once ruined people’s taste buds.
Take Crystal Pepsi, the famously clear cola from the early ‘90s. It promised purity and innovation but mostly delivered a see-through disappointment. It vanished quickly, but its myth only grew. Pepsi Blue—another short-lived oddity with the hue of mouthwash and the flavor of mystery candy—followed a similar arc. Both were commercial misfires, yet decades later, unopened bottles are sold online like relics of a lost civilization.
Why? Part of it is the retro novelty. Part is generational memory. But mostly, it’s the thrill of possessing something weird enough to spark conversation. Sealed cans of Orbitz, for example, have become glass-bubbled monuments to an era when form outran flavor. They're tucked away in basements, collector forums, and the occasional daring YouTuber’s fridge.
Consumers today treat them with reverence and regret, like cautionary time capsules. You don’t drink them—you display them, like cursed artifacts from a carbonated tomb.
Lesson: Every bad idea eventually becomes retro chic. Just ask the mullet.
💬 Poll: Which of these beverages would you willingly sip for content or money?
🌠💫🚀🧋Orbitz (Globule Juice)
🥒 Pepsi Ice Cucumber
🥓 Bacon Soda
🦃 Turkey & Gravy Jones Soda
🔋👅🥴 “I’m still licking that battery from last time”
Engagement Angle: Let readers wallow in their beverage trauma or share their own drink disasters. The comment section is your group therapy now.
🧠 Why This Matters
Bad beverages aren’t just quirky—they’re symptoms of something more serious: launching products without knowing your customer. Many of these drinks were built on vibes, not validation. No clear persona. No ideal customer profile. Just a hope that novelty alone could carry the day.
That’s not innovation. That’s Innovation without a Target.
When teams don’t take the time to understand who they’re creating for, they end up aiming at everyone—and hitting no one. Personas and ICPs aren’t just marketing tools; they’re the map to avoiding flavor fiascos, product mismatches, and viral embarrassment.
The lesson? Test your assumptions. Build with someone real in mind. And if your ideal buyer wouldn't touch bacon soda with a ten-foot straw… maybe don’t make it.
Because collaboration—like carbonation—is only good when grounded in clarity.
🥞 Next Time on Oops, We Made It Worse…
Mascots, Myths & Manufactured Nostalgia
Aunt Jemima. Uncle Ben. Rastus. The Frito Bandito.
We’re trading paper crowns for packaging sins as we dive into the branding icons that never should have existed—and the dangerous stories they told with a smile.
These weren’t just characters. They were stereotypes sold by the spoonful. And while some brands have tried to quietly move on, we’re flipping the box to read the fine print they’d rather you forget.
🧁 Fictional faces. 🎭 Minstrel roots. 🚫 Cultural erasure, reheated for mass appeal.
Next time, we’re not just unmasking the brand—we’re questioning who it was ever meant to serve.
Pull around next week and stay hungry—because this combo meal of chaos is not to be missed.
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Next Blog In This Seven Part Series: 🥞 Branded Lies: When the Logo Whitewashes History: 3rd of 7