Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Hormones vs Wine

I read Alder's latest post with incredulity and a chuckle (for the art work, not the crime). How does this stuff happen around wine? Unless someone refuses to share, of course. But oenophiles not share? It's just not done.

I wonder if there was another person involved. You see, I remember something similar, though far less lethal, happening in connection with the wine store where I once worked. About 10 years ago, I was basically moonlighting at the wine store. When I showed up at the store for my evening shift one night, I noticed Andrew, one of our young full-timers, was sporting a nasty shiner.

Two days earlier all of us had gathered at the owner's house for a cookout and wineout for the staff. We were all there, including Andrew and another full-timer named Richard. It was a fabulous day full of sirloin steaks, pate, Krug Grand Cuvee and Leoville-Barton. It was enough, I thought, to put even the most foul-tempered hothead into a pretty relaxed mood.

However, shortly after the wife and I left for the evening, Richard decided to head out as well, but he was having trouble finding the date he came with. After searching thoroughly about the house and grounds, it became apparent to Richard that Andrew was nowhere to be found, either. Now, if wine can make one happy and relaxed (works for me) I suppose it can make others bold, even foolhardy. Richard, you see, was on the burly side while Andrew's boyish good looks were supported by only a modest, underdeveloped frame.

There was nothing wrong with Richard's arithmatic (1+1=2), so he headed off to the girlfriend's house where he observed familiar faces through the window. He knocked, vigorously, of course. He may have even shouted something. Andrew, for some bizarre reason, opened the door. Andrew had no more than an instant to recognize Richard's snarling features before a fist came through the screen, knocking him on his ass. Voila, black eye.

I've often thought that these two louts gave a bad name to winedrinkers. But stories like this one remind me, hormones trump wine, every time.


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