Remember the short film about Johnny Lingo and his 8-cow wife? Well, I once owned a coat that became legendary among my friends, and we called it my 12-Beer Coat because I could fill its many pockets with a total of 12 cans of beer. I had the 12-Beer Coat when I lived in Maryland. I’d fill up my coat with brewskis, and a group of us would go off on some beach or mountain adventure for the day, and my 12-Beer Coat provided refreshment for us all. Sometimes we packed the coat more than once per adventure. In my 12-Beer Coat, I could sneak beers anywhere. I’ve heard rumors that we also filled up the 12-Beer Coat coffers before going out to see movies. I do recall that we were once hiking up a mountain in New Hampshire while I was wearing my 12-Beer Coat, and I slipped and almost tumbled off a ledge. I did not slip because I was tipsy. I slipped because I had 12 full beers for the group stuffed into my coat while hiking. Try keeping your balance with 12 beers rolling around on your body. If I had fallen off the mountain and died, it would have been technically correct to say my death was alcohol-related, just because I was the beer mule.
I adore this Levi jacket, but it is wimpy in comparison to my long-gone 12-Beer Coat. I can pack only 8 drink cans in it. Of course, if I bought a bigger size of Levi jacket—with bigger pockets—I could load it with a 12-pack or more of cans of whatever not-beer I drink these days. From the looks of it, I think I can fit a couple of cans inside my hat, too.
