I’m a wimp when it comes to liquor. The only alcohol I’ve had “straight up” was the vodka I gulped down one night in high school when I thought I was reaching for my water glass and accidentally picked my father’s glass.
And, the so-called “brown” liquors? Oh no, no, no, no.
Except for one night in the 90’s, when I went to a media event sponsored by Dewars Scotch Whiskey at the House of Blues in Boston. They were trying to get younger kids to drink their product by mixing Dewars with things like sour mix and Coke.
I showed up at the House of Blues with my Best Friend at the time, and we hung out with a sales reps from one of the magazines I worked with regularly. After a few sweet drinks, the bartender leaned across the bar and asked us if we’d fill out a postcard with information about ourselves, presumably for the Dewars marketing folks.
Feeling warm, fuzzy and giggly, I read the words on the postcard for my two friends to hear: “Name”, “Address”, “Phone Number”, “Bar Name” and “Date of Event”.
“Hmmmmmm. . .”, I wondered out loud. “What is my Bar Name?“
“Mine is Polly,” said my Best Friend at the time.
“Oh, mine would be Kitty!“, I said triumphantly.
“What are you guys talking about?” asked the confused magazine rep.
“Oh, you know—-your Bar Name! It’s the name you give someone when you don’t really want to give them your real name!”
“OH! I’d be Dr. W”, she said without hesitation.
We laughed over our bar names for a moment when I felt a hand tap my shoulder. I turned to face the same bartender who was now looking at us with a look of complete and utter disbelief.
“Bar Name. . .” he said slowly. “. . .House of Blues”.