I lost the auction on a WHAM-O Super Ball.
It was a beautiful example of the multi-color type. About two inches in diameter. 1965. Atomic logo. The real deal. It had a small nick in it, but that only seemed to add to it.
But I refused to bid higher than thirty dollars. I was adamant.
Surely, I thought, that was more than enough? It's just a Super Ball.
I had plans for that Super Ball.
I wanted to display it on my desk as a type of CEO power statement.
You see that small planet on my desk? I control that world.
Yet I was unwilling to pay too much for that world.
All of this low-bidding regret, ruminating, and second guessing has me wondering if I should have WHAM-O design my coffin. It could be a brilliant fad for exiting Baby Boomers.
You're born, you live, you die, then WHAM-O!, you Slip N Slide into that eternal black night.
A coffin largely made of Zectron - the same polymer used to make Super Balls...
It could work.
I know it would work.
The polymer is cooked at 329°F under the pressure of 80 atmospheres. If that can't be used to market WHAM-O coffins then something is really wrong with our sense of durability.
The winning bidder won the small swirling planet for thirty-one dollars.
I wonder if I could have gotten it for thirty-two?
Then I think how little gasoline thirty-two dollars would buy. It skews things. Maybe I should have bid higher - as high as a whole tank of gas. The Super Ball would have provided pleasure for decades.
(See that planet there? It's been on my desk nineteen years and still bounces like it just rolled out of the WHAM-O factory.)
But gasoline? It's always gone.