Warning: Long-winded bad beer story follows…
Ed, an old retired military buddy of mine, notoriously cheap frugal, was a borderline alcoholic frequent consumer of Keystone Light (yeah, just like making love in a canoe
). He swore it was really Coors (they do produce it…notice I didn’t say they
brewed it), just packaged differently so they could sell it at a lower price. Whenever we got together at his place, that’s what was in his fridge and what we drank unless I brought something better, which I learned to always do.
I gave Ed a hard time about his beverage of choice, and often reminded him of how Coors Brewing Company produces Keystone products: Keystone is brewed by parking a tanker truck loaded with water in the brewery parking lot overnight. Keystone
Light is brewed by just driving a truckload of water through the brewery parking lot.
Whenever he came over to our place I made sure I had some Keystone Light in the fridge just to razz him. Either he really liked the stuff or his pride wouldn’t allow him to be seen drinking the real beer I would offer him, because he always drank the Keystone.
In the record heat of the summer of 1998, we were building our retirement home. I visited the building site almost every day after work, and about once a week would take a long lunch hour to drive out and meet with the builder and the subs. I hit it off pretty well with the framing subcontractor, who I found out had a math degree. He had started his own framing business after discovering he hated teaching. Said he did only custom homes because he loved the variety and working out all the angles by hand (he did all the math using a carpenter’s pencil and a scrap piece of wood for his calculations). His crew of 6 were a hardworking bunch, but I wouldn’t be surprised if one or two of them might have taken off in a dead run if you went up to them and said “Green card?” Anyhow, I felt a little sorry for them since they were working in 104+ temperatures every day, so I decided I would do something nice for them to show my appreciation.
On a Friday morning I filled an ice chest with two cases of beer and iced it down. I also threw in the three cans of Keystone Light left over from Ed’s last visit. At noon, I drove out to the building site and left the ice chest with the sub, telling him to share it with his crew when they finished for the day. Told him to just leave the chest there and I would pick it up the following day. It was blistering hot, and the high that afternoon set a record of 107 degrees.
Saturday morning DW and I drove out to take a look at the progress of our new house. The ice chest was right where I left it…empty except for three cans of Keystone Light.
Of course I used this incident to repeatedly rib Ed that even illegal aliens suffering from dehydration after working in the sun all day in 107 degree temperatures wouldn’t drink Keystone Light...but he would.
Truth is Ed actually had the last laugh as he started telling this story on himself as his personal badge of honor: “Only real men drink Keystone Light!” It was one of those subjects that came up every time we got together for as long as he lived, and I made sure I told that story at his funeral.