Friday Report: Look, Timmy’s fallen into a can! |

Friday Report: Look, Timmy’s fallen into a can!

Jon de Vos/Friday Report
Grand County, CO Colorado

Finishing a frosty can of my favorite soft drink, I set it down. When I did, I noticed the big, block letters around the top that commanded, “LOOK INSIDE.” I whirled the can around just in case the rest of the phrase was “SEE MOUSE,” but it wasn’t. It said, “WIN PRIZES.” Below, there was a picture of a new Chevy.

I spun it around a few times; sure enough, it repeated itself, “LOOK INSIDE – WIN PRIZES.” I peered down into the depths of the can, cocking my head back and forth like Lassie looking for Timmy in the well, but I saw … nothing.

I paused to consider why I was looking into an empty can. What if I peek inside and there’s someone peeking back? What if that person is only following directions of their own that say, “LOOK OUTSIDE?” This may not seem important to you, but what if you’re the “INSIDE” person? What then?

I hoisted up the can, tilting it to catch more light into the interior. I know there’s nothing in an empty soda can, but I’m unable not to look. If I don’t look, I might be crumpling up my new Chevy Camaro ZL1 and tossing it into recycle. Can I not look? Not a chance.

Hmm, still can’t see anything. Why bother? Why look? BECAUSE I WOULD LOOK SO GOOD IN A NEW CAMARO! I raised the can higher, staring up into the triangular opening, scanning the interior for my new car, and poured a tablespoon of syrupy liquid directly into my eye.

A trip to the nearest medical practitioner was narrowly averted when my wife, who has a black belt in overreaction, ordered me in her sternest command voice to “STAY STILL!” while dragging me by the arm into the kitchen. Then she bent over the sink, whirled and sprayed me full-on in the chest with the sink sprayer, completely taking my mind off some stupid little eye problem.

Back to the task at hand. I hold the can back up into the light. I see something! It’s words! No, it’s just one word. Auguring around to get more light and learning nothing from my last go-round, this time I dump a surprising amount of sticky residue down my front. There it is. I can read the word! It says, “LOSER.”

Loser? Say, it’s hard not to take this personally.

But then in a flash, things become clear. The soda company is mocking me. Of course only a loser would be searching for a fancy car in the bottom of an empty soda can. I’ve paid money to be insulted. Not only that, I have gummy soda all down the front of me and I am a loser with sticky underwear. Thank heavens I bought a six-pack.

Five more chances.

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