I know it’s not Friday, but I couldn’t wait to post this one.
One advantage I feel pretty good about in my line of work is the insulation I have from the general wine-drinking public, with the exception of the occasional consumer event I help Winebuyer out with and the inevitable peppering stream of questions from friends and family or acquaintances I meet at a dinner party. “What’s a good $10 Pinot?” (Answer: there isn’t one) “What’s your favorite wine?” (Answer: it varies from week to week, but trust me, you wouldn’t like it) “I just got my annual shipment of Sea Smoke/Scarecrow/Caymus/Orin Swift/Screaming Eagle… it got 90-whatever points from that one reviewer guy” (Reply: you poor schmuck, you got swindled) etcetera.
Fortunately, for the most part, I’m working with people on a day to day basis who have at least a slightly greater understanding of wine and the inner workings of the broad wine market than the average consumer. Most of my buyers understand that scores don’t really mean anything beyond an easier sell to the score whores out there blindly following their chosen Pied Piper. Most of them know not to expect any shred of greatness from a $10 Pinot. And most of them are happy that consumers have a “favorite wine” as it makes it easier to move through those floor stacks and to anticipate guaranteed sales numbers.
It’s easy to become jaded in this line of work. Easier still if you’re working with the general public day in and day out. If this guy were my Winebuyer, I think I’d urge him to take a much-needed vacation. Or even a 6-month sabbatical.
No…I don’t stock, nor have I ever tasted or sold, a wine from Augusta Cellars in Missouri. Augusta is a golf course run by white supremacists in Georgia. Oh wait, the PORT wine from Augusta Cellars in Missouri? (pause) NO, I don’t sell that either. Port wine is from Portugal you douche. Oh, its not sweet? Well then why the fuck would they call it Port wine? To conjure a tasting image for all those ninnies like you that think Port is dry and comes from places like fucking Missouri? Do you know what Missouri has, buddy? Nothing.
No…I don’t sell Montelle wines. However, if you get back into your fucking Lexus and drive for 40 minutes you could buy them at the winery yourself. And while you’re there why don’t you ask them if they sell MY wines? Oh, that doesn’t make sense to you? Well then you’re just about as stupid as your haircut. Fuck off.
No…I will not help you pick a bottle that is for your cousin’s husband that “is a real conoosoor” of wine. If he is, why don’t you have him call me directly and he and I can talk an endless spout of shit and drivel until I probably hang up on him for being such a twit.
No…you can’t step outside to use the phone to call Debbie in your office so that she can help you pick out something from the store because she knows more about wine than anyone you’ve ever met. I’m sitting right here you fuck! I own a fucking wine store and café so by definition that means I know more about wine than fucking Debbie, who does NOT own a wine store. What does Debbie do anyway? Dallas? It would be like if I paid for a whore but then called Debbie for blowjob advice first. How would the fucking whore feel about that? Huh? How?
No…you can’t have a tour of our kitchen. What, do I have a “Welcome to Disney World” sign on my lapel? Do you see my nametag? Of course not, because I don’t have one. Why would I want you stalking me, eeldick? On second thought, sure, you can have a tour. And while you’re at it how about your wife or some other female relative gives me a hummer in the executive washroom? Do we have a dealio on that one, butt wart?
No…I have not heard of Mas de Fromunda, a winery in Provence somewhere between Aix and Carpenters (sic) that you stumbled on during your honeymoon with your third wife. I should really try to import their wine should I? Well, hmmmm, let me put my 5 favorite importers on that. They make a really great off-dry, sparkling pink wine do they? And you think I could sell a ton of that huh? Great. The first 15 cases are coming directly to your house. Gimme that credit card, you cock.
No…I don’t have any wines under $5. Well, on second thought, yes I do. Only, I serve them exclusively by the glass, you pube. Bottles of wine that cost $5 come from the equivalent of oil refineries. Does that actually make it attractive for you? D-d-d-d-d-d-ick. Does it? You would actually put something in your mouth that comes from a refinery? No….! They’re not “not bad”! They suck. And since when is ‘not bad’ acceptable in anything? Your wife said you’re ‘not bad’. Not great either, apparently.
No…I have NO interest in pouring wine for your monthly book club that meets in the community room in the basement of your condo. Oh, they’re all real “wine players” you say? Tell you what, pre-cum, if everyone that attends makes a commitment, with cash, of 5 cases purchased, I’ll be there. Otherwise I’ll try not to bother any of you the next time I see you stocking up at Trader Joe’s on $8 Amarone and $4 Mexican Pinot Noir.
No…I will not donate 4 cases of wine to the Catholic League of St. Louis. The auction will be attended by everyone and anyone that buys, drinks, makes love to, and knows anything about wine in the whole universe? And, Oh, it will go to support the new swimming pool you’re trying to install at the Senior Center? And you promise that I will be recognized in the back of your auction catalog by getting listed right in between P-Clean and the St. Louis Scrapbooking Center? Well, sheeeeit, where do I sign on? Now, if you would kindly just insert my balls into your mouth I’ll get to work on that paperwork.
No…you cannot use my bathroom. Unless of course you’re buying solid cases.