The Flying Saucer screwed the pooch. But eventually made nice.

28 Dec

Introducing Dr. Brew, PhD. She’s a beer snob, a PhD student, and one of the Queen of Awesome’s sexiest friends.

She’s been pursuing her Golden Saucer at the Flying Saucer for the last couple of years. And like all marathons, the final miles were the hardest. Hear her tale of suds, but no Buds.

***

I had my first drink when I was 21.  Yeah.  My first drink ever.  No all night High School Keggers or un attended punch at a family gathering.  My first drink was at 21, and it was a Beer.  Miller Lite to be exact (followed by a slew of shots during my Fry Street crawl in Denton, Texas), thus starting my love affair with the brewski.

At 22, I walked into the doors of the Flying Saucer for the first time in Addison, Texas.  For those of you who aren’t hip to the game or haven’t picked up on the theme of this blog entry, it’s a beer joint.  While they sell some wines, the drink of choice is beer—close to 240 beers for your choosing.  The ceiling and walls are plastered with gold plates engraved with names and quotes.  Being the inquiring soul that I am, I found out that the people mentioned on the plates are members of their famed UFO Club.

The UFO Club is their frequent beer drinker club, where once you drink 200 beers (of different kinds), your get your plate and the Saucer throws you a party with a 250 dollar tab.

I love beer enough and I LOVE a free party.  So in the winter of 2007, the gentleman I was dating at the time got me a card to drink with him.

The first year I ran into minor problems.  First, the nearest Saucer was 24 minutes away from me. As a graduate student at UNT in Denton , it was hard getting my friends to get drunk with me in Addison when they could do it for half the price in Denton.  Overcome by my over competitiveness, I would often go to the Flying Saucer during the afternoons by myself, books in tow, to make my way to 200.

In the spring of 2010, I was accepted to Southern Illinois University’s Ph.D program for Speech Communication.  It was a dream come true—I was on scholarship, it’s a prestigious program, I’d leave in August.

And the nearest Flying Saucer from Carbondale, IL, is 3 hours south in Memphis, TN.

I had 100 beers left at the time of my acceptance.  Also, you should know that on your quest for 200 beers, you are only allowed to drink 3 beers every day that count to your goal.  You do the math.

I kicked it into high gear. Along the way, I made buddies with the waitresses and bartenders, who would protect me from drunken males who’d hit on me, give me free loot like glasses and shirts, and on rare special occasions would comp a beer or two for me.  I felt like the bi-racial Norm of the Flying Saucer. Bouncers and managers alike knew my sprint for the plate between March and July of that year.  Friends who were reluctant to go now willfully joined me for a pint.  I studied for my comps there, wrote my thesis there, and said goodbye to my DFW life and Texas there.  I got down to 38 beers before I left.

The past year has been a frantic race to the bar anytime I was within 20 miles of a Saucer.  I went my first trip home for Chirstmas. My Illinois friends went to Memphis for the weekend, so we went.  There as a national conference in Little Rock, AR, and I dragged my colleague there every DAY.  In September of this year, I had exactly 3 beers left.  On a quick visit to the Ft. Worth branch, I proudly swiped my card and told the waitress this was it.  I asked her sweetly to please make sure they count!

She didn’t.

We went again the following day.  And I asked the waitress sweetly, telling her that I didn’t live here and this was my only chance to finish.

She also didn’t.

So in December, I went with my good friends the Queen and King of Awesome to get my final three. Again. Now begging the gorgeous girl in plaid to make sure my beers counted.  She stated that she would but that I would need to return tomorrow to fill out a card for my plate.  Fine.

On December 24, I walked into their establishment and swiped my card.  I had one beer left.  Meaning, she only allowed 2 of the final 3 to count.

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!!!!???

Luckily when I walked to the bar, Brandon, a handsome bartender who knew me when, recognized me and upon telling him my plight fixed the computer so that my beer would count and my party would happen.

So if you are free, Jan 7 at 8, you can come to my party that I worked so hard on.  Hot Brandon will be there.***

What’s the lesson here you ask? In academia, we always look for a conclusion or something close to it to answer the questions and soothe the desire for epistemologies fulfilled to occur.  If I liken this to my quest for a PhD, I can give you lots of quotes like, “It’s the journey, not the destination,” or, “It’s a marathon, not a race,” or some shit like that.  And while that is true, the real thing in my to-go cup here is that it pays to be nice, on both ends; customer and employee. Sure things happen, people forget, and years down the road I may not be a massive beer fan as I am now. But to have a document, a gold plate for that matter, that indicates how I spent my 20s is awesome.  And the fact that I spent it drinking really great beer, and practically grew up in that bar, is nice.

***Come now. Getting free booze ain’t that easy, readers. If you want to celebrate, you’re going to have to come knowing Dr. Brew’s real name. And say hi to the Awesomes, of course. Cheers.

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