Thursday, October 14, 2010

The oracle of beer and wine

Sometimes I drink Labatt Blue Light beer.

Eighteen cans of Labatt Blue Light beer cost $13 or $14 at the discount grocery. As evidenced by the accompanying photo (which, in the publishing industry, we call "art"), I purchased some the other day.

Since it is not yet cold enough to store the Labatt Blue Light beer in the garage (which, in Cleveland is a law during the months of November through March--give or take a few weeks either way), I was unloading some of the 18-pack into the refrigerator.

The proceedings were going along well enough until I pulled out one can that was not only distressed, but empty despite having the pop tab intact (furthest can to the left, click image to enlarge).

Outrage welled.

I could either take the Labatt Blue Light 18-pack back to the discount grocery and raise hell, or write the brewer/distributor. As quickly as it had arisen, however, my fury subsided. Frankly, the thought of a kerfuffle over a 75¢ can of beer exhausted me. The cardboard case showed no signs of leakage (I was a bit worried about the interior of the Mini Cooper). Clearly, the can had burst days ago, if not at some point during packaging. Damage was largely contained, save the wasted 12 ounces of Labatt Blue Light beer. Swallowing this defeat whole, I moved on.

Then yesterday at the high-end grocery, this:

The debacle was courtesy of a sharp turn and my backpack-style purse. The employee who first discovered me standing sheepishly over a pool of wine adjacent to the deli counter offered a polite tight-lipped smile and said, "These things happen," in a way that indicated she wished said things did not happen. The guy with the mop bucket said nothing, just stepped through his bovine-like motions like he'd done a thousand times before.

Being the impetus for "clean up in the deli aisle" (admittedly imagined as such communications are no longer public, but have given way to discrete private intercom systems) is not exactly who I want to be, but once you're there, you're there.

At the checkout, my lame offers of payment for the broken bottle of wine to the clerk were rapidly declined. She did ask me if I wanted to "lick it up off the floor." I didn't say anything, just trudged off with my purchases.

I normally try to keep my karma freshly shampooed, but could anyone blame me for being concerned about all this? Is it some sort of sign?

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Further Reading

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Bridget Callahan said...

I don't know about karma, but I would worry about a cute cartoon animal conspiracy to keep you away from alcohol.

hypnotist collector said...

At what point did you take the picture?

Erin O'Brien said...

While I was standing there like a moron waiting for the bucket guy.


alphadog said...

I do believe that all this bad karma may be manifesting itself upon you because you're purchasing Labatt's 'lite' instead of beer.

Erin O'Brien said...

Labatt Blue Light is some seriously shitty beer. One must be a shitty beer professional in order to properly consume it (really cold and really fast).

Anonymous said...

Buying shitty beer is like buying single ply toilet paper. I am not sure what the means but it has some sort of message.

James Old Guy

Anonymous said...

Perhaps you should do your drinking in bars.

A man walks into a bar, sits down, and orders a drink. 'Hey, nice tie!' comes out of nowhere. He looks up at the barman to see if he had said anything, but since he was on the other side of the bar the man just ignores it.

'Hey! Nice shirt!' The man looks up but, again, the barman is engaged elsewhere. 'Hey! Nice suit!' The man then calls the barman over and asks him why he keeps talking to him.

'It's not me, it's the complimentary peanuts', said the barman.


Glass Houses said...

A while back, I went and bought myself a nice floor jack and tire iron at the auto store, because the tools that my car came equipped with are candy ass.

Literally 10 minutes later I got a flat tire.

Tomorrow I'm going to sign my will.

I'm worried.

Erin O'Brien said...

No one wants to know how many times I had to read RJ's joke before I got it.

Now, I want some of those peanuts.

Vince said...

I don't think you can really say there is an Imp on your shoulder when the beer is crap. Nor when you're buying the stuff at a cheaper price than the same volume of house-brick.
The Wine incident is a classic Impish ploy though. And of course they are English. And getting in a double at that, you being Irish an'all, and the vino being French.

philbilly said...

A kangaroo walks into a bar and orders a Manhattan. The bartender eyes him warily, makes the drink, and says as he slides the drink across the bar; "That'll be six bucks, pal. Say, we don't get many kangaroos in here, ya know what'm sayin'?"

The kangaroo puts the cash on the bar and replies "At these prices I'm not surprised."

danb said...

One thing that I miss about Northeast Ohio (and there are many things that I miss) is the ability to keep beer cold just by setting it on the floor in the garage. It's a simple pleasure.

Erin O'Brien said...

I will let you all know when I get Phil's joke.

Dan, in lieu of keeping the beer cold in the garage, masturbation is a simple pleasure you may enjoy just about anywhere.

Bill said...

Yes. Followed with a beer and a cig.

Bill said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Erin O'Brien said...

Yep, that was me, Bill. You can take that sort of humor elsewhere, thank you very much.

danb said...

Since world-wide masturbation is a goal we can all shoot for, I will spread the gospel as far and as wide as I possibly can! Simple pleasure indeed!

/On my second glass of amaretto...

Amy L. Hanna said...

Klutz Happens.

Jon Konrath said...

Years ago, whenever cases of coke would hit $5 at Target, I would always buy a half-dozen of them and have a perpetual waist-high stack of cases in my front hall. (Don't get me started on the highway robbery of their half-case fridge packs.) Once I opened the top case and found an empty can, like the one you described. I was pissed off, then forgot about it. Months later, when I reached the bottom of the pile, I found that can had somehow leaked through the cases and caused the bottom case to leave a nice red rectangle of indelible ink on the light cream carpet. I tried every possible bleach and miracle stain busting compound sold on late night TV, but only managed to get it to a nice pink square by the time I moved. So that case of coke cost me about $400 in carpet replacement.