That, my friends, is an eight pack of Coca-Cola.
You know how difficult it is to pluck a bottle off a plastic ring? I think Coke’s packaging engineers were trying to address this problem.
Let’s be generous and call it an over-correction.
The poor bagger at checkout—the 8-packs were on special, three for $12. He’d pick one up and half of the bottles would fall off like overripe grapes and roll every which way across the floor.
I vaguely remember being young. One time, I came home from a shift at Wendy’s and sat down with my Dad at the kitchen table. I complained about what a crapass job it was, especially the managers.
“How much do you make an hour?” he asked me.
“Minimum wage,” I told him.
“How much does McDonald’s pay?”
“You know what that means?” he asked me.
“Never take shit from anybody.”
Not the most profitable advice I ever received, but certainly the most enjoyable. How I miss my old man.
Of rats and rolling donuts.
Us Woodwards have a way with language.