On the Quest for Root Beer

You know, some days it just don't pay to get out of bed...

Last night, the Wigster had the craving come upon him.  Ya know, he quit smoking last week.  It's been hard on him - 8 days and counting.  And to stem the craving, he's been giving in to other temptations instead, trying to buy off the part of him that sincerely wants to examine the inside of a pine box by the time ol' Wiggy turns 50.  Oh look, something shiny!

In this case, the reward was Root Beer.

My wife, bless her, knows how to keep the Wigmeister in line.  A little Root Beer in a tall glass with some decent vanilla ice cream, and ol' Wiggy will write you a check for ungodly amounts of money, or give you the keys to his car, or loan you his Fujica G-690 rangefinder camera.  Anything at all, basically.

Root Beer, as all decent people know, is a Good Thing.  Why, if the world would just drink a little more Root Beer, there would be a lot less violence in the world.  Well, that and Foghorn Leghorn cartoons, but Root Beer is pretty good all by itself, ya know.

But, fate kicks ol' Wiggy directly in the snarglies yet again.  There was no Root Beer in the house.  Sunday night, y'all.  Ten p.m.

Now, Wilson, North Carolina is a small town.  The local 24-hour Walgreen's closes at night.  Yes, they're open 24 hours, just not in a row.

So, Wigwam jumps in the Chevy Lumina and chuffs off to the local Convenient Store.  Yes, in North Carolina, they don't have 'Convenience Stores', they have 'Convenient Stores'.  So there you go.  But problem is, not too convenient for the Wigster - no Root Beer.

"We'll have some more on Thursday," the PFY (pimple-faced youth) store clerk announces, apropos of nothing at all.  Of what possible use to the Wigster is that information?  He might just have well have told Wigwam that he'd had the clap twice and ring-around-the-collar since he was twelve.  What did any of that have to do with slaking a serious Root Beer thirst at 10:30 p.m. on a Sunday night in North Carolina?  Nothing, that's what.  So the Wigmeister heads out the door of the not-too-convenient store, into the night, in search of Root Beer.

Now, let's take a moment and talk about Root Beer.  A science and an art, is what it is.  Root Beer goes way back - an original American invention.  In Colonial times, Root Beer was sometimes called 'Small Beer' and it was made from darn near anything - sometimes alcoholic, sometimes not.  It always had certain things in it, however - roots of some sort, such as sassafras or sarsaparilla.  But it is more than that.

Root Beer, for those who love it, is a Special Thing.  It is so much more than a soft drink. Yes, ol' Wiggy loves his Mountain Dew, and will chug a Lemonade on a hot day, but there is something special about Root Beer - the way it plays on the tongue and further back along the palate.  The things it does to yer nose.  Ah, tastes of butter and pepper and some indefinable something...it is magic.

If you love Root Beer, you can already taste it as you read these words - you feel the butter on your tongue, you feel the bubbles at the back of your throat.  Take a drink of water - you'll taste Root Beer.  That's the Holy Alchemy that is Root Beer.

So, back to the story.  Your hero went out into the night, in search of Root Beer, and in particular, one certain brand of it.  IBC brand Root Beer.

Yes, there are other brands.  But Root Beer brands are important to the Con-you-sewer of Root Beer.  And for ol' Wigwam, IBC has got it hands down over any other brand.

IBC comes in a small dark bottle, a bottle of mystery and imagination.  Chill it and open it, the slight escape of gas sighs yer name as the cap comes off.  Ah, the perfect sound, preceding the perfect quaff.

Now, to tell the truth, there is one Root Beer brand that ol' Wiggy once had that was (gasp) BETTER than IBC.  That would be "Sioux City" brand Root Beer.  But that particular brand has been hard to come by since Wigwam abandoned Omaha, Nebraska back in 1987.  So IBC is second-best, but it is a fine, fine, thing nonetheless.  The Wigster will drink "Hires" in a pinch, but much prefers IBC.

However, the Wigster struck out completely.  After a complete tour of the town of Wilson, North Carolina, he only came up with a couple of cans of A&W brand Root Beer from a vending machine in front of the local WalMart.  Hellfire and Damnation.  A nasty brew.

But at least it was Root Beer.  Sometimes, all's well that ends.

Keep Yer Stick on the Ice,

Wiggy