Schiavoni Files

Months ago when I first moved to San Francisco, I went out to a bar with a bunch of friends. One of them was my friend Stephen (not crazy shirt Steven, another Stephen). Stephen is the friend whose reputation so preceded him when we met, it seemed almost divinely willed we'd become friends. He's also seen pictured on the bottom left of the holiday photo collage below.

Anyhow, back in March, Stephen was a loyal budweiser fan. It was his crappy beer of choice. I, of course, was a die-hard Miller fan.

So Stephen and I argued for long time about which beer was better: Miller or Bud. That night we decided to settle the controversy with a blind taste test.

We pitted a budlight against a millerlite. We made sure both beers were fresh and cold. I went first. Naturally, I had no problem telling which beer was superior. Bottle #1. Miller. Done and done. Then it was Stephen's turn. He tasted, paused pensively as he carefully considered his options, and finally proclaimed that he too chose bottle #1. This time, it was also Miller.

This was a big blow to Stephen. But he took it like a good loser. Instead of asking for a rematch, he announced there and then that his new crappy beer of choice would be Miller!

In the months past, I have taken every opportunity to remind Stephen of my victory. When I see him I usually offer to buy him a Miller (although for some reason I never usually get around to it...). A couple months ago I even bought him a crappy "Team Miller" T-shirt from the Milwaukee airport.

Well something in Stephen must have snapped. I guess he had enough of my beer blasphemy.

Today I got a fedex at work with a big neon sticker on the front that said "Red Hot Rush."

What could it be? I thought. And why was the return address from Illinois?

When I opened it, I found a really nice shirt with dainty writing embroidered on the right pocket: "Budweiser: The king of beers."

Beautiful.
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