You’re Not Even Trying

I've always considered bottled water to be one of the biggest scams running. Particularly for us Chicagoans, who've got basically the best tap water in the world at our fingertips, and for cheap, too.

That said, I _am_ human, and I make mistakes. Such as today, when I arrived at work to discover that I had forgotten to chuck my trusty insulated Contigo water bottle into its usual side-slot on my backpack.

This was very upsetting to me.

Now, I may live in Chicago, but I work in a wretched suburb a few days a week, and the concrete cube my office resides in there most certainly does NOT offer delicious, clean Lake Michigan manna from its disgusting shared-kitchen taps. So, off to the creepy little automated vending room, searching for a nice bottle of Dasani or something.

What I get is this hot bullshit:

Water_01Baby's First Photoshop'd Logo

What fuckin' trailer park art school project ginned up this crap? Is the guy who fills the vending machines here with WAY too much regular Coke and knock-off Pakistani "Fanta, But Not Really!" flavored pop that never sells just printing these labels out at home and slapping them onto recycled Evian bottles filled with his Calumet City SRO bathtub water? Because, while I may not be a regular purveyor of bottled water, I've seen enough of 'em to know what an actual, professional-made bottle of it is supposed to fucking look like, and this ain't it. Where did this shit even come…

Water_02In Case You Can't Read It: From Pierceton, IN

Motherfucking Indiana rears its greasy goddamned mulleted head again.

Does it even need to be said that the "water" in this bottle tastes like something a hobo bathed his junk in?

Y'know, it's bad enough I forgot my water bottle, blessedly filled with real Chicago tap water and ice cubes made from same, at home. It's worse that I'm basically a captive audience for whatever weird Costco dumpster leavings the vending company has decided to make available for sale at ridiculously-inflated prices in our Balkan bus station-esque vending lounge. Can the Universe at least take some pity on me and NOT reduce me to paying $1.50 for a bottle of this disgusting Hoosier urinal sweat that was labeled by some charter school art teacher's 2nd grade daughter who's "real good at the Photoshop"?

God. DAMN it.



About Me

Disaffected middle-aged guy who hates what the internet has become and led to and just wants to write on his quiet corner of it that he actually owns himself because WOW was social media a bad idea. I mostly write about books and terrible current events. Sorry.


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