In your most vulnerable times, you seek out, and will hopefully secure, coconut water.
If you’re cursed you will only find it in a carton with a screw top nozzle.
You see, there comes that moment when you go to devour the last gulp, but the carton remains deceivingly heavy when the last drop comes out. And when you shake it to investigate, confused, the last sip’s worth of remnants splashes rebelliously against the insides of the carton, mocking you.
And so you carry on, thwarted, brooding over your desperate circumstances and all the flawed and prohibitive designs around you.