More than A$1m ($1.07m; £664,000) of wine has been destroyed in a forklift accident in Australia.BBC
The 2010 Mollydooker Velvet Glove shiraz sells for A$185 a bottle ($199; £122), the AFP news agency said.
Winemaker Sparky Marquis told reporters he was "gut-wrenched" that 462 cases of wine had been smashed while being loaded for export to the United States.
"When they opened up the container they said it was like a murder scene," he said. "But it smelled phenomenal."
Tell them Riddled sent you.
9 comments:
sob.
Alcohol abuse, that.
In related news, emergency room flooded with patients with tongue lacerations.
It's all about getting liquored down.
Waitaminute. Where's Howard.
Howard's sick.
But...Howard is our forklift driver. He's very good, careful-like, y'know? This isn't ketchup, fer crissakes.
I toldja. Howard's sick. What the hell're y'gonna do?
**Sigh** Hokay. Who's his replacement.
That'd be Sparky.
Sparky?
Yep. Sparky's the guy. He's all certified and approved. And, like, everything.
I wanna talk to him. SPARKY!!
Yessir.
You Sparky?
Yep. I'm one forklift drivin motherfucker. Yesterday I loaded seventy one tonnes of octopus. Before lunch. Which was squid. Made me fart.
Sparky. Please. Try to concentrate. This is WINE. And not just any wine. This is the goddam Mollydooker. You copy, SPARKY??
Sure man, you know, like, whatever.
Sparky - you need to be slow and methodical - you need to be careful. Can you do that?
Absolutely. And I can have this container loaded before the roach coach gets here. Let's rock....
My brother had friends who worked on the docks in Wellington (dockworkers in the 'podes being called wharfies)and told him of deliberate accidents which involved frozen meat when "wharfies would come running" and old friends who had not seen each other for years would reminisce as they divided the spoils.
Good times.
Good grief, the AUD greater than parity to the greenback?
Never happened back in me forward FX trading days...
~
Oh dear, I've dropped the crate, what a butterfingers I am.
Do you smell whisky, Jack?
Yep, I can smell whisky.
Reckon all the bottles must be broken.
Every last single bottle. Terrible shame. OK, take the crate to the smoko room and we'll clear up the broken glass at the end of the shift.
Oh, what a butterfingers I've dr--
What's that you say, Jack? Jack? Oh Christ!!
(sound of running feet)
Look out everyone, Jack dropped a crate of the Riddled Christmas Ale!
(later)
Well, it's better than most Christmas Ale spills, there is a pair of boots to give back to the widow.
I was told a story similar to Kiwi's by a friend whose stepfather worked in the railroad yards in L.A. If the seal on a boxcar door somehow came loose, the free market would take over.
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