I lost five soda's yesterday.
It was a tragedy.
I was at Vans across the street from my apartment grabbing groceries for our "New Episode of Top Gear" celebration, when I realized what our refrigerator was running low on. This realization was of course in respect to the sweet nectar of the gods we refer to as Coca-cola.
I drink the stuff like an alcoholic would drink Jack and Coke, except only Coke all the time. If it's possible I'll overdose on the stuff, and I should say "WHEN" it's possible, because I'm going to do it no matter what.
I went to the soda isle and checked the prices.
I usually judge the state of our economy by the fluctuating price adjustments to twelve packs of soda. When there's no sale, you know there has to be a line of guys waiting to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge.
Luckily for me, Coke's were at buy two, get two free.
Unluckily, they were heavy. So I tossed them into a shopping cart and took it to the check-out.
Now, I don't like to say I'm a lazy person, but I will say that I avoid lifting just about anything.
So instead of lifting all the soda packs and having the guy scan each of them, I lifted up one and let him scan it four times. It saved us both some work. However, I realized that he wouldn't bag them. Realizing I had to carry these back to my apartment, I asked for a couple extra bags. He gave me three.
The sun was high and the temperature was even higher. Outside, I lifted two packs of Coke and placed them in a single bag. I did the same with the other two.
Immediately, one bag broke, and a case of Coke loudly careened into the ground. On impact, a single Coke can exploded, sending carbonated napalm in all directions.
Realizing that the bags weren't going to work, and desperately trying to leave the area that I just covered in Coke, I tucked the remaining cases under my arm and started for the street. The case still leaked it's syrupy mixture, leaving a trail behind me. A homeless man nearby looked at me and helpfully muttered in a drunken stupor, "You're leaking buddy."
I said, "Thanks," and kept moving.
The cross-walk was too far away, and the weight of the cases was bearing down on me. The woman jogging next to me was going to jay-walk, and I agreed that seemed like a good decision.
With her at my side, I began running. Exactly halfway, the other bag broke along with one of the boxes. Suddenly bright red metallic cans were scattered across Springdale street, glittering in the sun. The woman next to me kindly stopped, but with traffic approaching I told her, "leave them!"
I tucked the remains of the cases under my arms and sprinted to the apartment.
Was it worth it?
You bet your sweet can it was.