When I was in the second grade, our teacher decided to do a little experiment. We all saw the round drum of Country Time Lemonade on the overhead projector that was perma-stationed in the front of the room. We hadn't had snack time yet and I can say with certainty that at least one mouth was watering.
Grace– yes, that's right, we called our second grade teacher by her first name– said something about "conditioned response," but who was listening? All eyes were trained on that vat of sugar and lemon extract placed so enticingly in front of us. What, we all wondered, is she going to do with that? She popped the top and handed out a stack of napkins. Next she distributed the sugary goodness, a little sandy pile on each napkin upon each student's desk.
Next, like some evil magician, she produced a bell. A little brass thing, she started saying something about a dog, and a Russian man. All this talk, with sweet, undiluted sucrose in front of our faces! Was she crazy? Nobody was listening. "When I ring the bell, everyone take a taste of their Country Time!" Now this we understood!
And that is precisely how it went: the bell rang, and like dogs, we all craned our necks down to our desks to take a lap of Country Time. Ring, lap, Ring, lap. My tongue was getting raw, but it was so delicious, and I was hungry! Ring, lap, ring lap. I was drooling from all the dry, sugary powder. On and on it went until she announced that this time when she rang the bell, we wouldn't take a taste. The bell rang. Nothing happened. We were supposed to be salivating, I suppose. I did not. Grace couldn't train me like Pavlov trained his dog. Not to salivate at least. Fourteen years after the exercise, I struggle to recall the lesson.
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