AT THE TABLE, they are greeted by a waitress who makes a show of bustling around, to establish right off the bat that she’s responsible for the feeding of dozens of people, not just this paltry sampling of humanity, and that she will not tolerate long periods of pondering and hesitation. A breezy “Hi, folks. Welcome to Flynn’s. All set for drinks here?”
They get themselves on her wrong side right away by exhibiting some indecision, since they have been doing various amounts of drinking in the lounge. She puts her hand on her hip and frowns while they hem and haw.
“Sure,” says Richard finally. “I’ll have a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks.”
“A glass of chardonnay,” says Effie.
“Anderson’s Denver Beer,” says Jack. He doesn’t quite shout it.
“I’ll have that, too,” says Belinda.
“I’ll have a — ”
Matthew stops himself. If he has a martini, it will be his fourth. That would be a mistake.
“ — a Dewar’s and soda,” he says, making not as great a mistake, perhaps.
“Okay,” says the waitress, “let me tell you about the menu. We’re out of swordfish, the soup of the day is split pea, and the special dessert is tapioca pudding. Would you like a few minutes?”
“Oh, definitely,” Matthew says.
The waitress bustles off, and Belinda almost snickers, which pleases Matthew.
“Jack,” he asks, “why did you want to come here? Of all the places we might have gone, why are we in a place where — unless I’m just having a nightmare — the special dessert is tapioca pudding?”
“Ahh,” he says. “Because I’m looking for a place to shoot a beer commercial. It has to be someplace that says ‘Boston’ to the rest of the country, and that’s why I chose this. There’s going to be a whole series of these commercials. They’ll have famous people who’re supposed to be hanging out in their favorite pubs, taverns, lounges, restaurants, whatever. That’s why I wanted to come to Flynn’s. What do you think?”
“Well — ”
“‘Well?’ What do you mean, ‘Well’? It’s great. Fits right in with the whole marketing concept, which is so devious, so fiendishly brilliant, that I drop to my knees in front of it every morning and kowtow. Figuratively speaking. Complete this sentence: The grass is — ”
“Always greener on the other side of the fence,” says Belinda in a rush, as if there were a prize at stake.
Jack bangs his spoon against his beer bottle. “I knew you were the smartest one in the bunch,” he says to Belinda. “I could see it in those sea-green eyes. Mmmm. Where was I? Oh, yes. Anderson’s.” He holds up his bottle. “‘If it’s Anderson’s it’s pure and sturdy and tasty, and if it’s pure and sturdy and tasty it must be Anderson’s! Anderson’s Original Denver Beer.’ Or Anderson’s Original Anywhere Beer. Even as we speak, Anderson’s is in the process of building small regional breweries all across this great nation. And before the year is out, they’ll be brewing Anderson’s Original San Antonio Beer, Anderson’s San Francisco Beer, Chicago Beer, New Orleans Beer, Memphis, Atlanta, and so on. And soon, Boston.”
A chorus of uh-huhs. He’s got them all listening.
“They’re all franchises, turnkey operations. Now here’s the thing, the genius part. You can’t buy Anderson’s in the city where it’s brewed. You can only buy it someplace else. So you can buy Denver Beer in Boston, but when the Boston brewery is in operation, you’ll have to go to Denver or someplace to buy Boston Beer. You see? You get it? Because it’s brewed in Denver, people in the East think of it almost as imported. Exotic. The beer from distant Colorado. It’s got that Denver cachet, and that means something.”
“And Boston Beer is going to have that Boston cachet?” asks Richard.
“Sure! Sure! See, that’s the attitude, right there. The grass is greener. You don’t think Boston’s anything special, because you live here, but they’ll be suckin’ down Boston Beer in Denver, because it’s got that Boston cachet. Of course, they’ll also be sucking down a lot of Manhattan Beer and Memphis Beer and so on. Chacun à son cachet.”
“But Jack, why this place?” Matthew asks. “I thought people were interested in all the changes in Boston. Vitality, booming economy, high-tech, waterfront development, that kind of thing. Why not pick a place full of young, gorgeous people whose pockets are stuffed with disposable income? Aren’t they the target?”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely. They’re the target. The people you described, young people with money to spend, they’re the target, but young people with money to spend who live in Boston are not the target of this ad. They’re the target of the ads we film in San Francisco, New York, New Orleans, Chicago. Right? See what I’m getting at?” He leans across the table and takes Matthew’s chin in his hand. “Aren’t you listening to me, Matthew?” he asks. “How many of those Scotches have you had?”
“This is my first,” says Matthew, emphatically.
“Well, then pay attention, will you? I fly all the way out here just to explain this to you, and you can’t get your mind off Luanne’s sweet little ass.”
“I wasn’t thinking about Luanne’s sweet little ass,” says Matthew. “I swear to God I wasn’t.” But he reddens, since the image of Luanne’s bottom and the memory of two piglets in a single sack return together.
Issue Number 16 of The Babbington Review is now on Substack.
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🎧 441: At the table . . .