I was a normal college drinker. I drank one bottom shelf liquor mixed with one mixer for a low price in Aggieville for years. Then one day I stumbled upon a quaint little place in between a dumpster and a uniform shop.
Inside, the well dressed gentleman showed me a cocktail list. "If you drink all of these cocktails, your name will go on a plaque!" He exclaimed. I began to try them each one by one. I was intimidated at first because my feeble understanding of cocktails had been determined by the masses down Moro. Yet, as I drank on I felt like Don Draper (although I never really could pull off a fedora). As I became accustomed to my drinks there I realized through my own research and by talking with the regulars that these drinks were actually prevalent in bigger cities around the country. "No way!" I exclaimed.
I then turned my attentions to my old haunts in Aggieville only to find they knew nothing about making these drinks. Only one small haven remained in what used to be the Purple Pig. There they had a small grasp of what a cocktail should look and taste like. It was from that day on that I was determined to find any other place in my small town that could equal the delicious beverages I had been consuming. Alas none could. Many places had potential. Yet, none were up this new haughty standard I had reached.
As a noted baller on a budget I realized these cocktails could never be the norm in my life. Thus I continued to imbibe the best that could be found. But from then on the litmus test for a good drink rested solely in my experience at that quaint place between the dumpster and the uniform store.
