I went to the gas station tonight for my nightly allowance of a 12 pack of bottled beer. I took my cheap/weak/American beer to the counter for the nice Indian (not Native American) man to ring me up. Payment given, changed received, and out the door I go. Or so I think.
I took about 2 steps and the “handle” on the 12 pack broke. In none of my 7 years of being a raging alcoholic has this happened. This is the same material that has made me have burst blood vessels and created hernias trying to break down to fit in the trash can. A Matrix-like moment ensues while I watch the fresh cold 12 pack accelerate at something like 9.81 m/s2 toward the tile floor. Ah, sweet release! It exploded on the floor like bombs over Baghdad! I’m pretty sure all 12 bottles erupted simultaneously. Thankfully, all 4 corners of the “box” on the bottom are opened to handle such a catastrophe. Beer spilled out in massive and gross amounts on the floor. I, being the good consumer, scooped up the soggy mess and took it outside, as to lessen the extent of the hemorrhaging beer’s effect on the beautiful floor, which must rival Saddam’s palaces. In short order the good attendant makes his way outside to view the carnage, at which point he asks:
“Do you need a bag?”
(This is a true story, and indeed I have had probably too many of my replacement 12 pack, so I promise this will be my last post of the night. And no, I don’t want to start a BLOG!)
I had a similar experience a couple of months ago.
Well, not quite similar, but here it is anyway:
A friend-girl and I were heading back to her place after a concert with a case of beer (cans) while her roommate and a couple of others follow a few minutes behind. I decide to go and leap over the snowbank (we’d had about 6 inches of snow the previous night). I leap, I land, the handle of the case breaks, beer cans go everywhere. Luckily only one broke. We picked up the mess, went inside, and proceeded to have a merry old time. Only as I go to leave about 5 hours later (I’d only had 3 beers whilst there, so I was in no way intoxicated at this point), I realize that my car keys apparently fell out of my coat pocket when I jumped the snowbank. So I go out to look for them, at 3:30 a.m. when it’s about -20 degrees. Looked for a long ass time, but never found them.
But I had managed to save the beer. After all, that’s what counts, right? Hell, it only cost me about $90 to get my car keys and apartment keys replaced.
Not to make you feel bad ok, yes, this is supposed to make you feel bad I went to a race at Darlington and I did a very similar thing. I got back to the car after a long race and a long drinking binge. Shocker, I couldn’t find my keys. So I told my friends, “Fear not, I will go find them”. That really came out “Freearnot, owlgoanfindum”. I went back to the last chain link fence I hurdled and voila. Not exactly the Holy Grail, but it was close.
