So we’re moving to a new house in 2 weeks, so we’ve been busy packing everything we own into boxes. I have a lot of books, and the boxes that work best for books are beer cases, so last night I went up to the big liquor store to grab some. I got there about 10:30 and was surprised to see them closed, I had thought they were open until 11. No big deal, I just went across the parking lot to their cardboard recycling dumpster and started pulling boxes out. I got a handful, then looked into the other general purpose dumpster and saw what looked like a stack of broken down boxes under a half smashed 12 pack of Corona. This sad looking box had obviously been crushed when something heavy fell on it. I reached down to move it out of the way to get at the boxes, and in addition to the expected sound of cascading broken glass, I hear the telltale clink of bottles jostling against each other. Verry interestink, as Arte Johnson used to say. I open the 12 pack and see that while 5 of the beers are smashed, 7 aren’t, in fact the condensation glistening on their sides argues quite persuasively that they are still cold.
Hmmm.
On the one hand, the store is closed, so the obvious solution of notifying them is out.
On the other hand, I’m not really in the habit of dumpster diving for consumables.
On the third hand, the beer is in non-broken bottles, still in the original box. I’m sure that a quick rinse in the sink to carry away any small slivers of glass on them is all they need to be potable.
On the fourth hand, they were in a dumpster, did I mention that?
What would you do?
Personally, I gotta tell ya, a cold beer tastes swell after a hot night of packing books.
I used to own a maintainence company so we spent a fair amount of time around dumpsters. We had a rule about foodstuffs: if it was liquid and pressurized it was okay. Solid food had to be double wrapped; a bag of individually wrapped candies was fair game. The questionable stuff, we took to the office where the suits worked and left it in the breakroom.
Pride v. Beer?
Ever since a certain night in a certain crowder bar in St. Catharine’s, Ontario, in front of a crowd of people whose numbers were exceeded only by their attentiveness, when I told Name Redacted exactly how much I appreciated her… feminine qualities…
I can never again honestly argue any other position but “Beer beats pride six days a week and twice on Sunday.”
Dough, the stuff that buys me beer.
Ray, the guy who brings me beer.
Me, the guy who drinks the beer.
Far, a long way to get beer.
So, I’ll have another beer.
La, la la la la la beer.
Tea, no thanks I’m having beer.
That will bring us back to - (reaching the crescendo of his toast, Homer looks into his beer mug, which is empty) - DOH!!!
