Too bad Harry Chapin isn’t alive to write the definitive song about the incident.
He was a young driver
just out on his second job
And he was carryin' the next day's tasty sauce
For everyone in that music city
Where pasta swims without despair
In Travertine tile clad dining rooms that serve each day
Just about thirty thousand jars
Of alfredo
Yes, just about thirty thousand jars
Of alfredo