No Appreciation for the Scotch

Many moons ago my old roommate Tim took me out carousing with his new business associates.  See, he had graduated from college with an MBA and was sucked into the world of high finance. Me, I was a reasonably unseasoned graduate student, stinky, broke and occasionally (++++++/-) intoxicated.

They wore ties and suits, I was wearing a t-shirt full of bleach holes and gay (old sense, any self-respecting homosexual man would never wear such things) white Jerry Seinfeld sneakers.  Heck, it was the early 90's.   As we celebrated my visit we went out for Scotch.  Yes Scotch. Like the tape, only booze.

Smarmy business dudes love the Scotch, and love it they did.  Me, ah, it was a little bit like robot tinkle. This coming from the graduate student in Chicago who kept a brick of Night Train fortified wine in the freezer, and enjoyed it.  Heck, it was a $1.09 a pint at Sal's Taylor Street Grocery Store, so when in Rome... but I digress.

We drank the scotch, I thought it sucked, slash-cut to 2011.

I was invited to a party to sample Scotch.  While my brain may have gained sophistication my palate was pure Sunday at the Wal-Mart.  The hosts put out quite an elaborate spread- Scotch from all over the world- Japan, the USA, even Scotland.  They had it arranged by flavors, smoky, peaty, or clean.

They sipped.  I watched.  I tried me a glass of some of the more mild flavored Scotch.  I drank it, wanted to spit it into the sink, but worked it down.  When I finished my glass I got a cordial refill from the host, never wanting to see a guest without the finest Scotch.

I don't want to sound unappreciative, as anyone that likes Scotch would have been in heaven.  The food was great, the people were friendly, and it was a lot of fun to hear experts talk about something they are passionate about.

To me, I felt like it was such a waste.  Like serving Kobi Beef at a Vegan Chicago get together.

So I would finish my drink, by the sink, then fill my glass with tap water and sip, sip, sip.  No sense in wasting the good stuff on a guy with hillbilly taste buds and a tainted palate.

I felt bad because the hosts wanted me to learn about Scotch and enjoy it.  It was a very kind gesture that fell on deaf ears.  However, it was a great success.  Even in the presence of those that could teach me about the details of a extravagance I never would normally encounter, I still would rather elect to have a Pabst Blue Ribbon and a shot of J.D..

Glad I like the cheap stuff, and glad I have friends that are willing to teach me of new, fine things-- even if I never gain the ability to see their magic.