Stories From The Bar:

A woman walks up to the bar. Its pretty quiet at this point so she's not being rushed into a decision. But, as its not busy at this point, we've got a couple of beer, for a couple of different kinds, sitting and waiting. Its preparatory for the periods of time when we can't pour them, to order.

So she order an "Original 16", which is the most popular kind at this event, the Brier. The server reaches for one of the two that are sitting on the table.

"Not one of those," the woman bellows. "I want a fresh one."

"We just poured them," the server says. "They've only been here a couple of minutes."

"No, I want one of those," she whines, pointing at the cooler. "It has to be cold. I can't stand the taste when its warm."

We all roll our eyes, but as I mentioned, its not busy, so there's no way to do a /switcheroo/ and just give her the table beer. I pour the "fresh one" but when I touch the bottle I can't help but let a goofy smile cross my face.

The woman walks away, thinking she got the best of us, and not having to settle for a 'table beer'. But the jokes on her. The beer on the table was from a batch that had been in the fridge all night, cooling to their optimal temperature. The 'fresh one' she just had to have, was only chilled slightly, as I could tell by touching the almost warm glass. The better of the two choices was clearly the one on the table.