WARNING:  THIS IS A RANT

This past Sunday my wife and I made the trek to Ann Arbor, MI to so I could pick up a few bottles of Jolly Pumpkin’s special release of Perseguidor (review coming soon).  My wife stayed in the van with our kids while I joined the line that was already of formidable size by 11:50.  Thought I to myself, “This will only take 1/2 an hour.”

Wrong.

Nearly two and a half hours I finally paid for my beer.  A hundred or so people in front of me, most of them paying with credit card, and only one cashier made for quite a wait.  I really have no complaint with Jolly Pumpkin for to reasons:  1) Perseguidor is worth the wait, and 2) The line moved slower because Captain Ron made it a point to chat with every customer.  I have to say, Captain Ron is extremely kind and easy to talk to, as well as knowledgeable in all things beer.

No, my complaint lies in the troop in front of me.  Let me air a few frustrations, and let me know if I’m off base, especially regarding my last complaint.

First off, the smoke.  I’m not a smoker, but I did used to put down about half a pack a day.  Obviously, my lungs are accustomed to carbon monoxide, tar, and nicotine.  Thus said, even back in my smoking days,smoke blown in my face drove me up the wall.

Secondly, these guys conversation.  Trust me, I tried to tune it out, but the volume of their voice could have pushed past lead earplugs.  Each conversation they held centered around either marijuanna, getting in fights at bars, srazy sexual adventures, and their “bitches.”  Sorry.  I value substance.

Thirdly, their language.  I actually heard the term (cover your ears), “Oh f&#king f#*kers.” Nice.  I’m no prude.  Honestly, stay away from me when I’m working on my car or motorcycle.  But after two hours of incessant “f” bombs, I was ready to bust a cap in these homeboys (their Detroit dialect must have worn off on me).  In all seriousness, when vulgarity comprises more than 25% of one’s vocabulary, I tend to assume one is overcompensating for a weak self esteem or lack of intelligence.

Finally, here is WHAT REALLY TICKED ME OFF.  The group of individuals in front of me (4 males and one female) kept going on and on about how silly craft beer is.  One guy kept saying, “somebody bring me a Highlife.”  Trust me I wish I as making this up.

You may be asking yourself, “why would somebody whose beer of choice is Miller High Life wait 2 hours in line in sub freezing temperatures to buy a $10 bottle (12 oz) of sour ale that is blended from three different ales, aged for three years in barrels, with an additional six months in the bottle?

Here’s why.  One of the five thorns in my side brought his four pals along to breach the four bottle limit.  Since he could only purchase four, he used his buddies to add to his stash.  No harm done right?  I mean, in a perfect world my wife was going to stand with me and buy four bottles herself (but instead had to wait in a minivan with 5 children for two hours…yes, she is amazing!)  Upon closer inspection, even the Persguidor hoarder got on my nerves.  I heard him exclaim, “yeah, I’m buying 20 bottles.  I hate the S@#t though…can’t stand sour beer.  I’m just using these to trad on Beer Advocate.”

You have got to be kidding me?  There were people in line behind me who didn’t get any Perseguidor because it ran out, and this guy is depriving them of a fantastic beer that they actually wanted to drink so that he could use it as currency on Beer Advocate.  If I were Captain Ron, I might be a little downtrodden…his heart and soul went into this beer!

Here’s where I need your unbiased opinion.  Should I have been irritated over this, or am I making a mountain out of molehill?  Is it ok for someone to buy up a bunch of special release beer that they find disgusting just to trade for beers that better accommodate their palate?

When it comes down to it, maybe I shouldn’t care.  While I feel bad for those who missed out on Perseguidor, perhaps they should have come earlier…after all, I nearly didn’t make the cut. Maybe it’s not a big deal, after all the beer Advocate perseguidor purveyor was a member of my craft beer culture.  Maybe I’m a jerk…you tell me.