So there I am, standing, trying to get the bartender’s attention and simultaneously cursing the free enterprise system, hating the entire beer industry, and wishing I were in Communist Russia. Why so many kinds of beers? Why not just one kind of beer? And one of our mutual friends and soon-to-be beer savior, Mark, walked up and before he could say anything, I pounced.
“I have no idea what to order John!”
“What was he drinking?” Mark said. I am not a careful observer of things like that. I knew he had a glass of beer. After seeing the vacant, clueless expression glass over my face, Mark came to the rescue. “Okay, get him a Sam Adams. He likes those.”
And I did. Once a random girl called a bartender over because she felt bad for my ineptitude. Seriously, I’m a pretty ignorable, forgettable person, especially in a dark bar. You’d think it’d be the opposite, since I virtually glow in the dark, my skin is so pale.
Probably about an hour or so later, John and I decided that we were way too awesome together to be single anymore. I’m not going to credit the Sam Adams entirely, but it couldn’t have hurt. (Mark–thanks, buddy!)
Back to the commercial: there’s no reason why a Sam Adams spot should make me tear up like I’m watching the Lifetime Network. And yet, I could feel tears burning the corners of my eyes as some guy– I’m assuming Mr. Adams?– plunged into and then exploded from a dunk tank full of beer.
John has got to start liking craft beers with no budgets for media campaigns.