The nice thing about not drinking a lot of beer is that on a limited budget, one can afford good beer. Actually, there is such a thing as good, cheap beer. And, I have discovered that many of the more expensive beers, particularly the kind sold at places where fashionable yuppies hang out, are terrible.
One day, I dropped by a local pizza house in Florida. I had the lunch special: two large slices of "New York Style" pizza (thin and limp crust), plus a soft drink. Instead of the soft drink I ordered a bottle of beer, so a discount was applied to the beer price. All together, pizza and beer, five bucks plus tax. For sure, I can't get that back in California. It's hard to find in Florida, too.
The pizza house had a small selection of beers, bottled or on tap. I happened to know that one of the bottled beers was from Italy; I liked it, but could not remember its name off the top of my head. So I simply informed the waitress, a young lady who seemed to be under twenty, that I would like the bottled beer from Italy. She gave me a baffled look, and replied that unless she knew its name, she wouldn't know how to pick it out.
Now, here were the choices in bottled beers: Miller Lite, Coors Light, Yuengling, Peroni, Corona, Heineken, Amstel. If you had to take a wild guess, could you pick out the one from Italy? If not, could you do it on second try? You would know that you were right since the label is actually in Italian.
However, I did not attempt to make that point to the waitress. I knew I would not prevail. So I simply looked at the list myself, and told her the label. Yes, they had it. There was a reason why I caved in: Not far away from that pizza parlor is an "Irish Sports Pub." I walked in one day, sat down at the bar, and ordered a Bass. The bartender, another young lass, informed me that the fish was actually grouper, not bass. I pointed to the prominent "Bass" sign above the bar, and she did locate a bottle of it; she hadn't seen it before.
Back in California I can get Bass Ale on tap, where I usually go. At the end of the bar is a cartoon, which I believe is part of the Mr. Boffo series: In Heaven, some halo-wearing barflies are sipping their beers, and one of them says, "Have you noticed that around here, it's always happy hour?"
That reminds me:
Once upon a time, the three remaining members of a singing quartet were traveling to the funeral of their deceased Soprano. Suddenly, their van was flattened by an errant truck, and they died.
At the gates of heaven, each was interviewed by St. Peter.
The Alto was up first. "I see you've been a naughty girl," said St. Peter. "I can't let you in."
"Wait!" said the Alto. "When I was little, I used to give handouts to the bum down the street."
"Hmm, let me ask headquarters," said St. Peter. He called, and said, "You're in luck! The bum's in heaven, and he asked the Boss to let you in."
The Bass was next. "You've been a naughty boy," said St. Peter. "I can't let you in."
"Wait!" said the Bass. "When I was little, I used to help an old lady cross the street."
"Hmm, let me ask headquarters," said St. Peter. He called, and said, "You're in luck! The old lady is in heaven, and she asked the Boss to let you in."
Finally, the Tenor was up. "You've been a naughty boy," said St. Peter. "I can't let you in."
"Wait!" said the Tenor. "When our Soprano was alive, I used to buy her a beer."
"Hmm, let me ask headquarters," said St. Peter. He called, and said, "You're in luck! When you get to Hell, the Soprano will buy you a beer."