At the bar, he tried describing it: "One-a those, like, recycled-paper cup holders—not the kind installed in your car—the kind that fast food places 'n' coffee shops give you to carry out multiple drinks at once, y'know?" So sure that there was a shorter way, he almost had to jab a finger down his throat to expel each word.
"Yeah, I think I know whatcha mean," said his friend. Didn't seem she shared his cares. Their conversation wandered elsewhere.
* * *
At home, he interrogated the search bar. That's the last time I fumble around like that, he thought. There has to be a term for it. Nice 'n' specific, like "aglet" or "octothorpe". Hell, I'd even settle for something like "garden hose"... "Drink carrier"? No, that can't be right—too general... "Cup carrier", "beverage carrier", these're no better... "Cup holder"?! I've spent too long pruning the connotations offa that one...
He didn't find what he'd been looking for. Maybe this is one-a those colloquialisms too mundane and infrequently used to search for online. He pulled open the door and on his jacket.
* * *
"Welcome to McDonald's, what would you like this evening?"
"Could I get two medium Sprites, to go?"
"Alright, two medium Sprites. Anything else?"
"Could you make sure they come in a..." He pointed to a stack of them behind the counter. "One-a those?"
The cashier turned to glance at where the man was pointing. "A drink carrier? Sure."
* * *
In his car, he sucked down Sprite. The whatever-it-was sat on the passenger seat, holding the other cup. Maybe Cioran was right, the man thought: The world does not deserve to be known.