OK, it’s not really a 100 years old. It’s only 14 years old. What in the hell am I talking about? Why it’s this one can of beer I’ve had in my fridge that whole time. I’m sure a few questions leap to mind.
- Why do you have a 14 year old beer in your fridge?
- Why do you call it a 100 year old beer?
- What do you plan to do with this can of beer?
- Are you retarded or something?
I’ll answer all these questions in due time, but first let’s get a peek at said beer:
Why do I have a 14 year old beer in my fridge? Back in 2002 I was between wives (yea I know I keep promising to tell the story of the three wives, but today is not that day) and I was living the single man’s life. One aspect to being single again was that I had been reduced to one income stream while still trying to maintain the same living conditions that two streams had afforded. As you can imagine, this did not leave me with a lot of disposable income. One Friday night I had some of my single friends over to hang out and play darts. Beer, of course, is a requirement during such activities. I already had some Bud Light in the fridge, and while I am no beer snob, this was the lowest quality I was willing to go. You’ve got to have some standards. The darts playing eventually gave way to a drinking game called Kings Cup. This is a fun game, at least until the hangover the next day, but it depleted our beer supply rather quickly. Not being done for the night, we desperately needed to get more beer. None of us were rolling in the dough, so all we could do is pull out our pocket change and throw it on the table. After picking out the lint and gum wrappers we totaled up our treasure trove and it came to about six dollars. So off went a couple of my friends to the store, which was in walking distance, thankfully. When they got back they proudly displayed their newly acquired fermented refreshment. It was a 12 pack of something called PABST GENUINE DRAFT LIGHT. There is only one way to say this. It tasted only slightly better than horse piss. Of course I am assuming this, as I’ve never knowingly ingested the urine of a horse, but I am betting I am close to the mark. However, for a bunch of already drunk guys playing a drinking game, it would do.
The next day, I noticed there were four cans of the Pabst Equine Elimination left and I almost threw them out. But on second thought I ended up shoving them in the back of the fridge. These cans came to be known as my Emergency Backup Beers. If I ran out of my regular beer and I was that desperate, I could dip into the emergency supply. Over the next several months, two of those cans were called upon to fulfill that role. Shortly after that I got a promotion and my financial situation improved to the point where I always had some decent beer around and I never needed the backup beers. They eventually became forgotten but stayed in that back corner of the fridge waiting patiently for the day that they may be called upon.
In 2003 I got married again, and not long after, we moved to a new apartment. When we were cleaning out the fridge in preparation for the move I came across my two backup beers. I should have just thrown them out but for some reason I tossed them in the cooler with all the other refrigerated items that were coming with us. At the new place, in the new fridge, they went back in a corner and continued to stand their silent vigil. There they stayed for the next three years. There were times during fridge cleaning days that I almost (and was asked repeatedly by my wife) got rid of them. But as time wore on they came to symbolize memories of my past single days and I was hesitant to dispose of them. They became somewhat of a conversation piece among my friends. Which brings me to the next question.
Why do I call it a 100 year old beer? Do you remember the TV show Fear Factor? Contestants had to compete in a series of three stunts to win the cash prize. One of these stunts always consisted of eating something not so pleasant. One episode had them eating what was called a 100 year old egg or a century egg. It’s an egg that the Chinese preserve in a mixture of clay, ash, salt, quicklime, and rice hulls for several weeks to several months. Through this process the egg turns a brown and green color and emits a strong pungent flavor. In other words, DEEsgusting. The next day I was talking to my friend, Rich, about the episode, which he’d also seen, and he likened the 100 year old egg to what my back up beers must taste like by now. Thus, they became known as the 100 year old beers.
Wait a minute, you say? The title of this post is The 100 Year Old Beer. Single. Did something happen to one of them? Surely you didn’t drink one? Yes, something did happen to one of them. But you are going to have to wait until I get to that part of the story. Kindly hold all additional questions to the end. Gawwd.
Where was I? Oh yea, fast forward to 2006. Due to a transfer at my job, we moved from California to Virginia. Didn’t even hesitate, my 100 year old beers went right in a cooler in the back of the truck and made the 2769 mile journey with us. For the next two years they stayed in the fridge in our condo and then when we moved into a house, they came right along and took up residence in a fridge in the garage that was specifically placed there to keep beer and other assorted liquid refreshments cool.
We still live in the same house today, and the same fridge is still out there in the garage. A few years ago I made a fateful decision (for one of the 100 year old beers) to have a party for all my co-workers. There were probably around 30 people at the party and I instructed all the ones that brought their own libations to store them in the garage fridge. At one point during the party I headed for the garage to get a beer. When I opened the door from the house to the garage I beheld a most gruesome site! One of the 100 year old beers was open and laying on the floor, leaking it’s (really stinky) life’s blood on to the cement. I rushed to the beer and picked it up, noticing that there wasn’t much liquid left. I briefly thought about giving it mouth to mouth, but in the moment, I hesitated (wouldn’t you?) and it was too late. All I could do was hold it’s tiny pop top tab between my forefinger and thumb, comforting it as it passed away. I looked around and didn’t see anyone else, but I did notice that the side door to the garage was slightly askew and a trail of liquid ran to it. I can only assume that one of the partygoers had mistakenly grabbed the 100 year old beer and drank some of it. I can’t imagine what happened next. I’m thinking they probably only got a few gulps down before realizing something wasn’t right, dropped the can and staggered out the side door to go die in the woods next to my house. I never did find out who drank it. There was this one new guy at work that I never saw again. I wonder…
I should probably put up a sticky note like this.
Of course I was heartbroken that I had lost one of my 100 year old beers. I took the empty can and buried it in the backyard. I can’t be sure, but I thought I heard the sound of taps being played. OK, no, this is a total rip off of A Christmas Story. This is a beer story. Truth be told, I didn’t bury it. But I did leave it lying in state on the top of my workbench for a month or so before I gently laid it to rest in the recycling bin. So that’s why I now have a single 100 year old beer left in my fridge in the garage.
What do I plan on doing with this beer? Before the demise of one of the beers, Rich (who still lives in California) and I talked about getting together one day and drinking one a piece. I guess we could still split this one. We also talked about drinking them on an audition video for a reality show such as Survivor or Amazing Race. That might get someone’s attention. If we survived. But I don’t think I could hack it on Survivor and I’ve already been turned down for Amazing Race once. True story for another time. Wait! I got it! We could get together and play the ultimate game of Kings Cup. It would probably be the last game for one of us, since the end of the game has only one person drinking from the cup in the middle. What do you think? Got any suggestions? Let me know in the comments.
Now, for the final question. Am I retarded or something? That’s kind of a politically incorrect way to ask that isn’t it? Well let me respond with a question of my own. Are you new here? If you are, look over some of my other posts and you will probably be able to answer that question for yourself.