“I thought you said you gave up gin.”
“I did.”
“You gave up gin?”
“Yeah. Yes. I did.”
“You gave up gin.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re sipping from a twisty straw in a bottle of Tanqueray.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So...”
“Shit. This is gin, isn’t it?”
“You’re a disgrace.”
“I’m sorry. I thought this was some kind of new, a non-gin beverage, like a juicy non-carbonated cola or something... One of those sport energy drinks, maybe? I didn’t know, honestly—”
“For somebody who claims to have drunk three liters of gin a day every day for eight years, you really don’t know all that much about gin.”
“I know. I know, I do not know anything about—”
“I mean, when you walked in here, you were—”
“I know, I know. I apologized—”
“You were gargling from a bottle of Beefeater’s.”
“I thought it was mouthwash.”
“Which...”
“I agree. I’m an idiot.”
“Yes. And, might I add, not only are you a terrible supposedly recovering alcoholic, it looks like you weren’t even that good an alcoholic to begin with—”
“Bombay Sapphire was my brand. I’m the kind of guy that’s very loyal to brands. For thirty years, I’ve only bought Charmin toilet paper, and I can’t even tell you any other brands of that either. And when I decided to start mass-consuming gin till I blacked out every night, I just kind of picked Bombay Sapphire on a whim. I mean, there’s so many to choose from...”
“I understand. Stop licking the twisty straw.”
“Sorry.”
“No, no, that’s O.K. Look, I’m afraid I’m going to have to rescind my job offer. I just don’t think you’d make a good gin salesman. I’m sorry. Good day, sir.”
*SUBMIT! SUBMIT!.*
*ARCHIVES! ARCHIVES!*
*BEA SHIRT! BEA SHIRT!*
