Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Liquefied Cardboard: Out Witted by Scotch

Well me oh my small fry. Scotch apparently is just too sophisticated for my pallet. Mind you I have not let pass the expensive alcoholic preference of the higher intellect through these lips, just the cheap 'well' version. I don't think the pricier of the bunch will really change the minds of my irritated tasted buds. I couldn't finish the glass, nor could I talk anyone around me into drinking the rest. Granted, I was out by myself hoping against hope to find someone willing to play some Fuzeball (some spell it Foosball, whatever pops your bottle top I say), for I have no friends.....kidding, I have a couple. Here is my story.

Well, here I am waiting for a willing opponent at one of my favorite bars (fuzeball table is all I need), when I hear a gentleman order some sort of Scotch, which the bar doesn't have, and this gets me thinking. I think to myself ' Self, Scotch is the preferred drink of the intelligent sort. You my dear are of the intelligent sort, therefore, you should drink Scotch.' This statement may seem true as taught by English teachers within the American Public School system (a truly intelligent person would have stopped right there); however, IT IS NOT SO. The only thing I proved to myself is that I may not be as smart as I believed myself to be. I order a Scotch rocks, and happily await my drink of liquid knowledge. The bartender hands me my drink, and I hand him the owed amount plus a hefty tip. I stand there- at the bar for a few moments staring at my glass, allowing the anticipation to build. I smile and put the glass to my lips. Ice comes rushing towards my face causing most of the Scotch up my nose and flowing freely down both cheeks unto my shirt. It's truly sad when Scotch proves to be wiser than I by trying to escape. I then immediately begin a sneezing fit. This saddens me, for you don't get much in your glass when you order anything on the rocks, and now most of it I was wearing as a new perfume, or sneezed all over the bar. It tastes horrid, though I convince myself that this was due to the unfortunate turn my plight had just taken. the bartender hands me a napkin, to which I respond with a sheepish grin and a pathetic thank you. I wipe my face and nose as the bartender wipes my DNA off the bar. I pick my glass up for round two. I look up and now have an audience watching me consisting of about five people including the bartender. I turn my attention back to my drink. I hear the bartender explaining to the original Scotch fellow that got me into this mess, literally, why everyone was watching me. I don't pay too much attention for I am getting back in the zone, Scotch Zone. I again put the glass back to my lips, mindful of the ice this time, and take a long slow sip. I hastily pull the glass from my lips and hear my audience, now of six, begin to laugh heartily, I assume at the expression on my face. I then unknowingly begin to make horrid noises deep in my throat to make the disgusting taste somehow go away. The wonderful bartender comes to my rescue with a tall glass of water, with which I gulp greedily. Not doing the trick, so I grab a handful of limes and begin sucking on them like some 1880's British Sailor. I take a few moments going back and forth between deep gulps of water and lime sucking. the laughter has gotten annoyingly loud, I believe I see the Scotch fellow wiping tears off his face, though I can't be sure as I am peeking through my glass. I ask if any of the laughing Jack Asses would care to finish my drink, to which they respond with laughing even harder. Such gentlemen. the Scotch fellow comes over and actually pats me on the back, and tells me he hasn't laughed like that for some time. I take the lime from my teeth and say ' I don't know why, I'm not funny' (why people believe otherwise, I'll never understand). He just starts laughing again and looking at me while shaking his head. I respond with 'Glad I could oblige' through my teeth, while wishing that looks could kill. He then informs me that by no means do you ever drink well Scotch, nor any other form of well alcohol. He then proceeds to inform me of the proper Scotch labels that should be consumed and something about Scotch and chocolate. Though I love dark chocolate, at this point I stopped listening knowing full well that my Scotch drinking days have come to an end. To add to my annoyance he has to be at least 6 years my junior. He confirms this for me, for he believed me to be younger than himself. I guess due to my lack of alcohol etiquette. He asks if he can buy me a decent, consumable drink and chat me up some more about the wonderful world of Scotch, lil bastard. This is my que to exit. I wish the patrons (still laughing) well with my middle finger, all in good nature I assure you, and make my way to the door. As I am driving home at an ungodly early hour of the evening - 11:30, I tell myself, ' Self, the night wasn't a total loss, you learned that though it was proven that you may not be as smart as you thought yourself to be, you DO learn from your mistakes.

A Note to Self- Ahem:

1. By no means should you ever again go to a bar alone for you need a wing man/woman to intervene when being adventurous with your choice of drink.
2. There should be a warning label on Scotch stating 'May cause permanent taste and smell damage (if it ends up in your nose), as well as possibly making you look like as ass, without your being intoxicated.
3. Scotch is of a higher intelligence that I, for it at least new better then to go near my mouth and attempted to escape. 
4. When trying anything new slow and steady is the way to go, oh and less is more in the mouth. 
5. Making strange noises deep in the throat only pushes the taste back towards the taste buds, thus causing the gag reflex to kick in.
6. Limes do not aid in the masking or removal of the taste of well Scotch.
7. I'm not funny in an intelligent sort of way, but more slapstick, shit.
8. Sleep is no longer the cousin of death, Scotch is.
9. Scotch tastes like liquefied cardboard strained through a dirty sock.
10. Scotch sucks.

I have come to the conclusion that though Scotch has one upped me tonight, it has also taught me many life lessons, and in being taught we learn, and as this becomes known to us it turns into knowledge, and knowledgeable people drink scotch; therefore, the statement must be true that Scotch drinkers are of a higher intellect, and because I consumed Scotch- which taught ME, proving I AM in league with the intelligent sort. OK, maybe I won't give up on Scotch just yet. Maybe there's something to that whole chocolate thing. Maybe I'll run into that Scotch fellow again and take him up on his offer of more Scotch knowledge, then again, maybe not. Me ooooohhhh my, small fry. Amen.

ALI

Currently listening to: Portishead- Over

No comments: