A new craft beer store (I don’t know what they’re called officially) opened within walking distance of my new home. They have fancy pants beers that I can’t pronounce. I feel like an immigrant trying to communicate with them. “BUSCH…LIGHT…COMPRENDE?” I am white trash. My old local beer store actually stocked dirty 30’s just for me. Just doing my part, America.
I finally caved and bought a four pack of some Dragon’s Milk Bourbon Barrell Ale. I strutted up to the register, proud that my stupid ass finally had become an adult. “$16.00, sir.” Excuse me…I thought you said $16. That’s funny. “No, that’s the price.” Well, I bought it to save face, pissed at the world. Then I drank two and was loopy like after my third concussion. (Fastball to the face, in case you were wondering). Not bad, Dragon’s Milk!
The only intolerable part is the general snobbery of other patrons. “I’m looking for a craft brew, not too hoppy, but with a nice barley aftertaste.” Yuck. I’m all like, “What will make me forget I’m not the lead guitarist in a late 80’s trash metal band? Dog piss? $7 a case? You drive a hard bargain, my good man!” The bar is low kids, but that means so is the letdown. Now excuse me, I just found out the corner store beside this one sells Steel Reserve.