Wednesday, May 15, 2013

"Got Milk?" Yeah, and it gave me PTSD

It was 1967, and my dad had just bought one of these, a new Oldsmobile Delta 88 Sport.  No, dad was not a pimp.  This was considered super-cool back in '67, and I thought I had pulled off quite a coup getting him to buy it.  Back in my 17th year, most kids in my social circle didn't have their own cars.  (My first car was still a year away.) 

Back then we were dependent upon "the folks" to share their wheels, therefore the more hip the car we could get them to buy, the better we looked cruising around on evenings and weekends.  Since by then I had a drivers license, I was the designated family gofer, which I didn't mind as it meant I could get a few more minutes/hours behind the wheel.  (A five minute errand soon became a half an hour trip, allowing for all the detours.)

One evening while talking on the phone to one or another girlfriend, mom interrupted asking me to go up to the corner convenience store and get a couple of gallons of milk, so off I went.  (Thinking back on it now....damn....we drank a lot of milk!)

I should say right here that this childhood memory was prompted by Cranky Old Man's post from yesterday. Check out his milk story here.

Back in those dark and ancient days, this ^ is how a gallon of milk was packaged, in a returnable glass bottle with a heavy wire handle.  After buying the two gallons of milk, I got back in the car and put both milk bottles on the floorboard, holding both wire handles in my left hand between my legs while I drove with my right hand.  This worked well until I was almost back home.

Just as I made the hard right turn into our driveway (which had a pronounced hump to it as the ramp jumped the curb) the glass bottles bounced a little, then gently "kissed" each other.  Not very hard, but apparently hard enough.  One of the jugs shattered, and I had a gallon of Vitamin D milk sloshing around my feet.

I ran inside and grabbed a bunch of towels and tried to sop it up, but it was like putting out a forest fire with a garden hose.  I did the best I could but by then the damage was done.  The milk had penetrated the carpet.  Dad was not happy.

The next morning as we got in the car to go to school the stench of soured milk overwhelmed us.  Dad was really not happy then.  Long story longer, dad tried every carpet cleaning product made, even renting a carpet cleaning machine, but it was too unweildy to use inside a car.  He finally had to take his brand new car back to the dealer to have all the carpet replaced.  And that new-car smell was gone forever.

I really haven't cared too much for milk ever since.



  1. So milk might do a body good, just not a car's interior.

  2. Good story, and so much of it is familiar -- though I never had the milk accident.

    Those Olds Cutlasses were no doubt the best looking American cars for quite a few years. GM really had things going then, I still can't believe Oldsmobile didn't survive. What a great brand it was!

  3. First of all, thanks for the mention. Second, that car is STILL very cool! THird, you had multiple girl stud. And killed the new car smell? OMG...I think I would have left home!

  4. I remember spilling cranberry juice on the dash of our car once.I had to get to work, so I just put plastic bags over my feet & went on my way, with juice dribbling out down on the floor the whole way. I had juice dribbles for a week! But at least it didn't smell bad :)

  5. I still have scars from all the dorky cars my dad purchased while I was growing up, dorky disasters. I mean a Pontiac LeMans. Really?

  6. Oh no...there's nothing worse than the smell of sour milk!

  7. Nice post with great details. The right option for the carpet cleaning is steam machine.