You can’t exactly say that there is a shortage of bottles in Munich. This does not mean any wandering corona deniers or other strange beings in the figurative sense, but the real, real bottles. The ones in which the beer that is still obligatory today, which is already mentioned in old tales, is carried with you.
The Gehbier, that indispensable Munich evening accessory, which, according to unwritten but iron laws, has to be held in the hand until it has reached the temperature of the summer air, and then dumped properly into the next gulli to make it inedible. Finally, the bottle is to be placed on a meadow for a bottle collector, who then ensures that the natural cycle of bottle existence (bottling plant – kiosk – meadow – bottling plant, etc.) is not interrupted.
This cycle, which has been established over the generations, has now become unbalanced, so that Bavaria’s breweries were threatened with the worst last week: If not enough empties come back, the beer supply could run out. One can now wonder where this is coming from again. Can the bottle collectors no longer part with their collectibles because the monk smiles so nicely on the label? Does an ominous teetotaler sect lock away the empties in dark cellars in order to finally get the beer-loving Munich residents dry? Is there even a gang of bottle pusher at work to push the deposit up? Nothing exactly is not known.
The brewing industry, however, assumes that people are just too lazy to bring their empty beer crates back, which is probably a mistake in thinking given the limited space in Munich. Perhaps the crisis-ridden brewers’ cry for help is nothing more than a marketing gag to inspire hamster purchases. At least since the toilet paper and pasta crisis last year, we have known what an impending shortage can have on people.