A convesation with a co-worker today about coolers reminded me about a funny story about my first tailgating cooler.
I didn’t have a good cooler to use my freshman year, and I lived in Creswell, so I just put my stuff for the day in someone else’s cooler. For Christmas, my girlfriend (and future wife) recognized my problem and got me a nice, red Coleman cooler. It was the perfect size for a Fall Saturday.
My sophomore year, 2004, someone the week before the LSU game stole my cooler from our tailgate. A dude who was tailgating next to us saw the rednecks come over and take it (why this jerk didn’t stop them, I don’t know). So a friend who was much bolder and braver went over across the parking lot with me and started to give the thiefs the business. He told me to find my cooler and take it back. I walked up and took it, and as the rednecks started to bow up, my friend bowed up big and loud and they cowered back down. I left campus with the same cooler I brough with me, and for a few minutes that did not seem like a vialbe option.
So, I come home and realized that today, I had gotten lucky. My cooler was never safe. And I didn’t want some punk to make off with my cooler without having the opportunity for me to have the last word. If someone stole my cooler, I wanted to insult them. So I found a Sharpie and wrote as neatly as I could in all caps, black letters across the top of the cooler:
IF YOU STEAL THIS COOLER, YOUR MOTHER’S A WHORE.
Well, my cooler was never stolen. It served me well for three seasons, and traveled all across the SEC with me.