In the cellar of my house we will find four years' worth of Long Trail Ale bottles. Six packs, twelve packs, everything.
I was thinking about hiring some high school kids or some other unskilled labor to carry them out of the house and bring them to the redemption center.
But then I remembered that we've got a bunch of folks in the Vermont State Police who may just fit the bill: It's a simple task, nothing they can immediately fuck up.
And then when they're carrying beer bottles out of the cellar, they can inform the woodchucks who've gathered at my house, "Hey: Do you remember how when the feds came to town we thought it was a big deal because we're such a bunch of rubes that we never saw an FBI agent before except on TV? And then we immediately informed the townspeople of what the feds told us 'cause we thought we were big shots in on something big? Yeah: It turns out we had no idea what we were talking about. It's a bit more complicated than a smashed pumpkin in the road. ...So now we're doing what we do best --something that it's kind of hard for us to completely fuck up unless we drop some bottles on the pavement."