I have a sadistic side that occasionally causes me to do cruel shit. Like telling my younger sister Alli she was adopted. Think about it, I told her: Mom, Dad and the three other siblings are brunettes, but you're a blond. Alli believed my awful lie until about the third grade. Then I told lil' sis the reason she didn't look like the rest of the family was because Mom had a secret affair with the postman. Alli believed that ugly yarn for another couple years.
Allison never wronged me in any way, mind you, so there was no justification for my meanness. Same goes for my recent treatment of Alfie, the young man who helms the Creative Loafing Street Team. The first thing I did when I saw Alfie last Saturday with the sleeves hacked off his CL T-shirt was ridicule him for looking like a meathead. But mocking his attire was nothing compared to the prank I pulled on him at night's end, the doozy that left Alfie gasping for air, his face flush, his eyes filled with tears and snot dripping from his nose. Which was horribly wrong, 'cause Alfie's a good guy: hard-working, ambitious, eager to please.
Alfie was helping our new promotions director Joran Oppelt throw one of CL's monthly Beer Club meetings at the World of Beer in Westchase. I hitched a ride with Joran because Beer Club means free beer, which means I'm pretty much a shoo-in.
Granted, import beers have never been my bag. My buddy Rizzo turned me on to Newcastle back when we were in our early 20s (we'd have it for brunch following nights of sunrise-watching debauchery); and if I lived in a cold weather climate, Guinness would be my default beer. I also went through a Chimay phase a couple years back, but that ended when I realized that for the same price I could enjoy a bottle of wine of equal taste but with about 4 percent more alcohol content.
But free beer is free beer. You should never say no to such a thing. And despite my ambivalence toward expensive imports and my disdain for beer snobs, the World of Beer impressed me: 500 beers, 30 on tap and smart, friendly staff. Before diving into the samples, I figured I'd have a full-sized selection.
"What's the most popular drink here?" I asked the bartender.
"Well, that depends," he said, kinda snotty but not obnoxious. "Are you talking dark, light, stout, ale?"
"Lager," I interrupted. "Give me a pint of the most popular lager you have on tap."
He returned with a Brooklyn Lager that proved crisp and tasty, and reminded me of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale. I dug it. It cost $5, and he thanked me for the dollar tip.
I wandered around to the loft area above the bar. Alfie had positioned himself there with his video crew: CL sales rep Andrea and her camera-carrying boyfriend Joey. They were interviewing Rick, this monster of a man wearing a "Tapout" (mixed martial arts) T-shirt. Alfie asked him about one of the beers being offered as a sample. It just happened to be named after a certain Christmas icon's ass.
"Santa's Butt ain't too bad," Rick boomed. "I can't wait 'til next Christmas when I can have some more of Santa's Butt."
Look for this amazing footage to appear on CL's website in the near future.
(My fellow pervs might also want to visit the website listed on Rick's business card: myspace.com/floirdafinestbikinibabe. It allows you to peruse Tampa Bay women in T-backs while listening to the .38 Special fave "Fantasy Girl." Thanks, Rick.)
Later, Alfie interviewed me, and I slurred my way through a talk on the roasted goodness of St. Nikolaus Bock Bier from the Penn Brewery in Pittsburgh. I yammered on about how my mom's family was from the Steel City area and were distant relatives of the Yuengling brewing clan and blah, blah, blah until all parties involved agreed the interview needed to end immediately.
Beer Club wrapped. Me and Joran met Andrea and Joey next door at Tijuana Flats to split a pile of chicken nachos before going home. While waiting for our order to arrive, Andrea filled a bunch of those little paper cups with various hot sauces, including one that made my eyes water with a single dab.
"What are you guys doing, shots of sauces?" Alfie asked when he approached our table.
"That's exactly what we're doing," I said, "Let's see you slam that one right there."
The poor kid gulped down the entire cup of fire sauce. His face turned red like someone had whacked him with a series of backhands. Then came tear-filled eyes, the coughing, the snot dripping down his upper lip. I felt so bad, I handed him the fresh beer I had just purchased. Not sure if that made it right, though.
"I'll get through it," Alfie said about five minutes later — when he started breathing normal again.
World of Beer (Westchase), 9524 W. Linebaugh Ave., Tampa, 813-852-2337 or theworldofbeer.com.
This article appears in Dec 12-18, 2007.