Post #524 Bottle Rockets

February 19, 2017 at 4:08 PM | Posted in Uncategorized | 2 Comments

Both partner/spouse and I grew up in the desert in the southwest part of the country.  Because of that, one thing we always make certain of is drinking plenty of liquids.  We’re constantly going to the bathroom and it has nothing to do with our age.  Truly.  And both of us drink plenty of water, but we both find water to be boring.  So we mix it up with teas, and juices, and sodas.  Lots of sodas.  Over time, our venue for receiving said soda has evolved.  We started with cans, and recycled them.  Then we moved on to plastic bottles and recycled them.  We currently buy 2 liter bottles and pour the soda over reusable and sealable tumblers with straws.  We fill the tumbler with ice, then pour soda over it, screw on the lid, and sit down confident in the fact that even if the dogs jump up, or an earthquake happens, our drinks will remain safely in their containers with nary a drop spilled.

So we watch the sales.  When the single serving bottles of water go on sale, we buy a ton.  Our garage usually looks like we’re waiting for the next disaster.  We don’t look for sales on juices so much because they’re usually fairly low priced.  My favorites are Raspberry Lemonade, and anything cherry.  Sales on soda we watch carefully.  There’s only one brand of soda that we like so when it goes on sale, we snatch what we can.  Many times we return from the store with 20 bottles of the stuff to last us a while.

One day last September or so, Partner/Spouse arrived home after work fairly early in the morning, around 8:30.  He had stopped at the store on the way home so I was helping to carry the bags inside.  Then I hit the jackpot.  A plethora of 2 liter soda bottles, multiple trips.  Okay, so I’m a guy and I wanted to make as few trips as possible.  I can shove four of those puppies under my left arm and usually juggle two more in my right hand.  So I loaded up and turned away from the car, only to lose my grip.  So I dove for the bottle that was fumbling in the air and watched it hit the sidewalk on the cap.

The thing exploded and became airborne.  It slammed into my shoulder which threw me against the car.  I was dripping with soda and slipped and fell to the sidewalk.  I couldn’t see what was going on with soda in my eyes, and still trying to hold on to the bottles I still had.  I know it only took a few seconds, but sure felt longer than that.  The neighbor across the street walked over to make sure I was okay.  I took a shower, threw my clothes in the washer, and dealt with the rest of the day.

It became a joke at work and over the months we all tended to forget it except when someone would drop something, or report a funny accident.  Then the bottle rocket story would come up.

Then about three months ago, I was carrying sodas into the garage.  It was getting colder as winter set in so we were using the garage as a gigantic spare refrigerator to cool the drinks down.  We had sodas out there, and case after case of 160z water bottles, plus some wine, etc.  We’re nothing if not efficient.  We had also stored out outdoor lawn furniture inside for the winter and the long couch-like wicker seat was perfect for storing the sodas on.  I was heading towards them when I lost control of a bottle.  Next thing I knew, it was skittering around the cement floor spraying soda all over the contents of the garage, and me.  I string of shouted expletives later, I was mopping up soda and feeling the squishiness and stickiness of it in my clothes and various body parts.  Why was I mopping it up? my partner/spouse asked.  Because I didn’t want ants in the Spring and cleaning it now was preferable to cleaning it later.  Several minutes later, showered and far less sticky, I mumbled and muttered to myself while watching television and playing with the dogs.  Soda bottles never used to bust open when I was a kid.

Three weeks ago, we were carrying in groceries through the garage again.  I had my arms full of soda bottles, two which were in a bag for some reason.  I set the bag down on an Adirondack chair next to the wicker couch we used to store the bottles.  After I had unloaded my arms, I pulled one bottle out of the bag and set it with the others.  Just as I was straightening up to reach for the last bottle, I heard something rolling, then something hit the floor, then the unmistakable hiss as exploding soda hit the plastic bag and sprayed in a carefully controlled pattern into the middle of the garage.  I thought to myself, I know these bottles are packed and moved less than carefully, how in hell do they only break open when I have them?  Muttering expletives as I once again got out the mop to clean the concrete floor since I still didn’t want ants and bugs when the weather warmed up.

The next day as were out and about, Partner/Spouse said, “I’m going to buy one bottle of diet to replace the one from yesterday if you promise not to drop this one.”  Louder curses and expletives followed as I sputtered as loud as one of the bottle rockets that I hadn’t dropped the one yesterday; it had rolled off the chair and it wasn’t my fault, and anyway I cleaned it all up.  He laughed at getting my goat.

I’m worried though, for two things.  First, by the laws of exponential equations I’m far overdue for another bottle rocket attack.  Second, we never did find the first bottle rocket explosion bottle.  Such a mystery.




  1. Oh my. That’s all I can say.

    • Yeah, it defies words, don’t it? LOL, take care!

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