I got RAK’d* tonight, you guys. By my downstairs neighbors. They RAK’d me pretty good and hard.
My downstairs neighbors recently had a kid. And by a ‘kid’ I mean a human child, not a goat. Like, last week. It is a male human child, with all of his fingers and toes, and, like a human child, this human child presumably requires a lot of attention. At least more attention than this couple in their early thirties was accustomed to providing their cats. As a result, I have taken it upon myself to pick up a little slack around my building during the last week-and-a-half, mainly assuming garbage detail and vacuuming the common hallways, which were both duties that the aforementioned couple were previously responsible for prior to the introduction of their new child into the world. They are the building managers, incidentally. Which essentially means that they get cheaper rent for doing a bunch of shit around the building that no one else wants to do.
So, anyhow, I voluntarily offer to do some tasks around my apartment building for a week or two to help this new family out. No big deal. I don’t have to do it. It takes almost no time out of my life to offer this measly helping hand. And really, my life ain’t that interesting at the moment anyhow.
Tonight, I come home to find a case of beer in front of my door, courtesy of the proud parents in Apt. 1. A case of beer? How awesome!
Except that it’s Miller Lite. The beer. The beer is fucking Miller Lite. Which immediately makes me think four things: 1) I don’t deserve anything special for helping these people out, I was just being a nice guy because they just brought a life into this world. 2) I’m never going to drink this beer because it’s Miller Lite. 3) I must’ve done a bad job at their jobs if they’re rewarding me with Miller Lite. 4) What am I going to do with this Miller Lite?
Except that I crack one open. Just for the hell of it. Because these 18 cans of 16 oz. light-beer swill belong to me now. And you know what? (I can’t believe I’m going to actually type this:) It’s not that bad, really. I mean, obviously if there is any other choice for beer, I will opt way away from Miller Lite, but, dammit, it’s not bad tasting.
I feel like my world is crumbling.
For those of you that can’t read: I JUST TYPED THAT MILLER LITE DOESN’T TASTE THAT BAD. It doesn’t taste like much, but it doesn’t taste bad. I guess what I’m saying is that I can identify the reason why so much of this garbage gets sold in the U.S. on a daily basis–it tastes kind of like a fancy, pee-colored sparkling water that doesn’t actually taste like pee water.
I just admitted to liking the flagship beer of one of the biggest macro-brewing conglomerates in the world. This acts against every flimsy thing I stand for in this universe. I must be drunk. But that can’t be, because it’s impossible to get drunk off of Miller Lite. One would have to drink two gallons of the stuff, at least.
I can’t remember the last time I drank a Miller Lite prior to this evening. Really, I can’t. I’m not just saying that; I know I’ve most likely already lost your respect prior to this moment.
I am almost finished with a second can as I’m composing this blog entry. Perhaps it is the cool retro design that makes the beer taste more appealing? The retro design is pretty great. Perhaps that is one of my issues with the beer? That the normal design is clearly targeted to the biggest douchewad demographic in the world? Could be.
Well, here I am, drinking Miller Lite at home. Alone. Oh, what a cruel twist of fate.
The morals of the story? 1) RAKs are good. We should all make an effort to perform more of these good deeds. 2) I guess you can’t tell a book by its light beer cover? I dunno. That’s a stretch.
*(For those readers out there that do not follow The Chive, RAK stands for ‘Random Act of Kindness.’)