There was a spiral slide in my grandfather’s warehouse.
You’d put a crate or box on the slide, and it would end up at the loading dock for pricing and shipment.
I thought about jumping on that slide and riding down it, but I never did.
Despite my brother’s attempts to shove me on to the slide.
I always wondered why glass bottles of pickles or prune juice didn’t shatter when they went down the slide and hit the rubber stop on the ground floor.
I guess they were packed well in their boxes and crates, with well-designed cardboard spacers.