Displacement

When I drink alone, which is not often, I excuse it by pretending I am practicing how to pour. I use Pilsner glasses, pint glasses and even red party cups (mugs, steins and boot are to come). And yet, for as conscious as I am about this seemingly unimportant task, I still manage to choke when sharing a pitcher with friends.

Stage fright.

My glass foams and I must patiently wait for the contents of my glass to take the form of a drinkable liquid again.

I often wonder if any other vice has a similar route to disappointment. Does a smoker who rolls their own cigarettes think so much about the task at hand? How conscious is a heroin user of the placement of their needle?

And yet there hardly is insult from others when this procedure sis not done to its fullest potential. Instead, just irrational self-consciousness.

Perhaps there is a subset of people in the world that believe that drinking foam is a better experience. I could scour the web and seek out their meetings and join their discussions and share my all-time greatest moments in foam. I can read about others and get their opinions and regurgitate them in public with condescension in my voice. “The best beers brewed in monasteries were meant to be drank foamy, you know.” Or “I definitely think you need to pump the keg some more, bro.”

No.

But are we not all merely just seeking out the perfect pour?

Unfortunately, there is not a font nor a symbol to indicate that this is mostly fictional. Also, proper punctuation seems so constraining. At one point, I officially said eff it. - Gabe

1 year ago  /  0 notes