Why isn't there a date beer? asks Travis Edwards...
Rant on: Date beer
Submitted by Travis
Edwards
I
guess the subject line summarizes this to an extent. It took me about
three months. With the shuffling of
feet, the cold, sweaty hands and out-of-place
16th century grammar that usually
happens when I talk to girls.
Perhaps the pinnacle of clarity came when, after three months of conversation about the workplace, I finally escalated our seemingly innocent and strictly professional relationship with: "So do you want to hang out tonight? I can bring over a beer or something."
I could see her eye twitching subtly and unintentionally as she stared at me, conveying that she was either searching for the standard but yet polite way to turn down the offer or she was actually considering it.
Rant on: Date beer
I walked the first block away from the shop, but then started running when I was sure she couldn't see me from the window. She got off work at six. She said to come by her place at seven. It was five-forty. I had eighty-five minutes.
Eighty-five minutes to shower again and try to get rid of the cold sweat, to find clean clothes, to brush my teeth, to buy our date beer and to show up an intentional five minutes late to show that I was cool and laid back enough to avoid showing up bang on time.
Seven minutes in the shower. Is there date beer? Three minutes to find clean clothes. The only specific plan for the evening was my role of bringing beer. Our beer date. I needed date beer for our beer date.
Seven minutes to find clean clothes that match. Date beer was the only plan. Everything was contingent on that. Three minutes to brush my teeth. Five minutes to shave. I can't buy light beer, but nobody should anyway. Fourteen minutes to walk to the store.
Why aren't there beer sections? Greeting cards have hundreds of hyper-specific classifications for every event. I can't buy something bland for our date beer, because I have to show that I'm interesting. I can't buy something too expensive or flashy, because then it looks like I'm showing off.
Four minutes to linger in the fruit and vegetable section so that I don't seem creepy by heading straight for the beer. I can't buy something obvious because it was my idea and I have to show that I put thought into it, and I can't buy something obscure because I want her to recognize the date beer I choose so that I can show we have similar interests.
Forty-three minutes have gone by.
It's a twenty-three minute
walk to her apartment. Probably four minutes to stand in line to buy
the beer,
one to actually purchase it and a three-minute buffer reserved for
either
being on the wrong block, or simply circling the block if I arrive too
early.
Eleven minutes remain.
Why does Whole Foods have so many beers? Should I have gone
some place with an inferior selection? 7-11? The place up the road
owned by the
Greek couple? The single
bottles are too pretentious. Eight minutes are left to
choose. Belgian beers show I'm a beer snob. The cheap beers are out for
a
multitude of reasons. The local beers have too much pizzazz and I don't
want
to be trumped by the beer I brought.
Six minutes are left. Guinness. Guinness makes a strong but unassuming statement. But is it date beer? What if we're eating? What if she baked something? What if she wants to go out and get some food? The Guinness is too filling for that and shows that I am looking to monopolize the evening with my choices and ignore anything she might have planned.
Four
minutes. Why is there no date beer? Fruit-flavored beer is out because
it
brings my masculinity
into question too early. Guinness comes in pint-sized
aluminum cans and the glass bottles.
There are two selections. Three minutes. But the food conundrum. Two minutes. And what if she already has beer? The Guinness demands too much attention.
Sixty seconds. Harp lager! The lighter but still user-friendly version of Guinness! The cousin or possibly step-brother out of St. James Gate! Perfect date beer! Beneath the dark glass is a liquid of recognizable but not too recognizable force without pretension, blandness or overbearing dominance.
Date beer in hand, I made the trek to her apartment, had time to circle the block twice and had a good fifteen minutes of boring and strained small-talk before breaking the tension by her putting on a lousy romantic comedy that I ignored by trying to think of a way to hold her hand.
But the Harp... The Harp found a nice and welcome home that evening. Need a date beer? Harp will pluck your strings.
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