If you hadn't guessed already, my birthday is at the beginning of January, a time when college students are typically home on winter break. I'm not entirely sure how I convinced my parents to let me go down to college for my 21st birthday; I'm pretty sure I mentioned something about undergraduate research and chemistry or something... But let me go they did. (Although, looking back at it now, I'm pretty sure they knew exactly what I was doing, but does it really matter?)
My roommate at the time and I made the trek out on that cold winter's night to the only pub at the University of Illinois that I trusted on that fateful night: Murphy's. Now, it may not have technically been 21 years old as I approached the bar, since the clocks had not yet struck midnight, but with a little sweet talking the bartendress (is that the proper term for a female bartender? bartendrix?) handed me my first beer.
What did I order? Well, as I was pretty much a total neophyte when it came to beer, all I knew was not to get one of the big three. Beyond that, I was an impressionable youth. And that, my dear readers, was one of the very few times in my life that I allowed advertising to make a choice for me. So what was my order?
That's right. Fosters.
What can I say? The giant oil can persuaded me. I wondered what made it so special. And the beer told me... a large advertising budget and a catchy slogan.
I did learn something else that fateful night. The Fosters we get here in the USA isn't Australian; it's Canadian. That's right. Fosters: It's Australian for Canadian for Beer.
Cheers. Na zdrowie. Gun bae.
No comments:
Post a Comment