Beef

I was at the grocery story this weekend because they were giving out free samples wine and roast beef in their parking lot. They also had beer and Gouda and pizza and lattes, but I mention the roast beef in particular because it was so delicious that I was confused about how many samples I would have to eat before the chef behind the fold-out table would make a non-joke joke which would cause me either to feel ashamed or, at least, know next time I took a roast beef sample he would make a non-joke without putting on the fake joke coating.

“Whoaaa, we’re going to have to ban this guy from tent, aren’t we?” Damnit. I knew I should have let myself get into a conversation with that drunk local brewer about the target market of he dreams up in his office by the airport.

Guy: Alright, alright. Now, before you take the first sip, you have to remember to forget that first taste.

Me: Okay.

Guy: You know why you have to do that, right?

Me: No.

Guy: You just got to.

Me: Okay.

Guy: Okay, okay. I know you said you like strong beer, but this is beer for non-beer drinkers.

Me: Oh.

Guy: See, you’re one percent of the market–

Me: Hmm.

Guy: –and non-beer drinkers, that like 40 percent of the market.

Me: Oh. Wait. For beer?

Guy: Yes.

Me: But… (takes sip of beer)

Guy: Wait. Wait!

Me: (raises eyebrows for instructions)

Guy: Before you take a second sip, you have to wait ten seconds.

Me: (swallowing) Okay, ten seconds.

Guy: Alright… one, two, three, four…

Me: (counting along) five, six, seven, eight…

Guy: …nine, ten. Drink!

Me: (drinking, expressionless).

Guy: So? What’d you think? Bet you’re glad you waited that ten seconds.

Me: Yeah.

Guy: Yeah. See? That way the flavor was really… (waiting for me to finish his sentence) …

Me: … It was really … subtle?

Guy: Subtle. Subtle! That’s exactly right. Quality beer without the beer taste. That’s 40 percent of the market.

Me: Yeah, it didn’t really have a taste.

Guy: A beer taste.

Me: Yeah.

Anyway, the grocery store has deigned this roast beef and other top meat selections (snicker) to be of their quality “sterling silver” cuts. “Customers! Come try our exclusive fine quality sterling silver meat!” Okay, I will. However, don’t you want to set the bar [sports analogy alert!] a little higher? Grocery Store? How about “gold” or, this sounds pretentious, “diamond” quality meat?

I don’t know, maybe even platinum quality meat. Platinum, I was just informed the other day, is actually more valuable than gold. Needless to say, I was incensed by this assessment. “More valuable than gold? Pfffffffff. Wait. What? Wait. Are you retarded? …  Okay, let’s assume for a moment, as difficult as this may be, that you are correct. But, but!, you must grant me the courtesty of a thought experiement. Think of the most precious metal in the world after I reach ten right in ten seconds just now … 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-10 … GOLD!!! If, for the love of Christ’s sack, you thought gold then you are cor-rect … No, shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up! You did not think platinum. Why would you think platinum? Oh, wait, that’s right. I forgot. For hundreds of years America and Europe were on the “platinum” standard. And, woop-a-dee-fucking-doo, maybe on your birthday I’ll get you a “platinum” bracelet … Really? No. No. Of course not. That was a thought experiement. Remember? No, not gold either.”

So, after the beer and wine and cheese and latte and whipped cream on top, we went inside to buy some ground beef and hamburger buns. Luckily, more samples, particularly pastries, were located throughout the store. “I’ll never go hungry again!” I thought. “Where the hell is all this free shit coming from?” I also thought. “Oh, it’s Cancer Day,” I noted.

Cancer Day, for all of you who are not vaguely familier with Cancer Day like I am, is the two (2) days set aside in the year where you are “given the opportunity” to donate money to a local cancer organization at the check-out counter. It works like this: you buy a whole lot of shit you probably don’t need and they ask for your change. Less specifically, you get your total, say $71.48, and they — “they” being the cashier — ask you if you — “you” being you — would like to “round-up” your purchase to help fight cancer. If “you” agree, they will take that 52 cents and give it to the cancer place. Or whatever.

When they asked us, we, of course, complied. Fifty-two cents? Sure, take it. It’s the Dave and Melinda Gates Foundation over here. What I was wondering, though: do people ever say no? “Your total is $24.05, sir.” Okay. “And would you like to round up your purchase?” $24.05? “Yes.” $24.05. Well… wow. I mean, if it was $24.73 or something like that, sure. But $24.05, ohhh. That’s a tough call. I got a family, you know. I mean… Come on, why did you have to ask me that. There’s people behind me, and… Jesus! Can’t a man have a family to feed?”

I actually proposed that scenario to our cashier. She kind of just smiled like she was instructed not to respond if someone asked a question like that. My girlfriend was also annoyed. I, however, was full of sterling silver roast beef and had no room for hamburgers in my stomach but ate two anyway.