You never forget your first

Four years ago I decided to give my first class in Scotch whisky.  I did all of my homework, secured three helpers, purchased plastic shot glasses, distilled water and $350 worth of single malt scotch.  Like all of my plans, I spent weeks agonizing over the details…only to have things happen that I never anticipated.

The class was held at a medieval/renaissance event called Pennsic.  I didn’t properly advertise my class, which you might think was a mistake but actually wasn’t.  By word of mouth alone 40 people arrived for the class.  If I had properly advertised, that number might have doubled.  That mistake actually worked in my favor.  The rest, well, not so much.

Mistake number one:  I only had enough samples for 25 people to try six different scotches.   I honestly thought that I was overdoing it with 25.  The solution presented itself over time.  One thing was that we excluded anyone under the age of 21.  Then we asked if anyone in the audience was there strictly for the knowledge and not interested in tasting.  So, after we eliminated those two people the answer became evident by tasting number four:  people were too intoxicated to go any further.

Mistake number two:  as I just mentioned, I failed to anticipate drunkenness.  I can handle about five ounces of whisky an hour.  The number varies depending on alcohol by volume, what I had to eat prior, the mood I am in, etc…  I assumed that if this was my tolerance level, it was everyone else’s.  I was way off.  By the third ounce, all but the most robust women were drunk.  By the fifth ounce the men had caught up to the women.  Now initially this was great.  The conversations people were having and the questions they were asking were really entertaining.

Then everything changed…

My students and soon to be fellow travelers of the whisky road started eyeing each other…appraisingly.  The conversations seamlessly shifted to more “intimate” topics.  One young lady went so far as to comment on my beauty.  Now don’t get me wrong folks, I am a very pretty man…in my own estimation.  It has always been profoundly confusing to me that more people don’t agree.  But when a woman has had enough to drink that she agrees with me on this, it is time to re-evaluate the situation.

Mistake number three:  and I have never made this one again; always have an exit strategy.  I have a room full of intoxicated, consenting adults, and they are looking to me for guidance, participation, or sacrifice, I don’t know.  I then notice that my three helpers are all standing well within my personal space and looking …concerned.  Luckily, it was pretty easy to leave on a high note.  My guys quickly and quietly packed up all of our materials, leaving one nearly empty bottle behind to delay any pursuit.  I said goodbye and left through a side door.  I didn’t go out the way we came because that’s where my helpers went with the rest of the booze, and if anyone was going to make it out of there, it was going to be me.

Travelers, you never forget your first.  I had such a good time that I have given this class, slightly modified of course, every year since.  I have encountered many of these students, and several have invited me to share a dram and talk about what they have learned in the years since.  But the most gratifying part of the whole experience happened three days later.  I was sitting by a campfire with some friends having a cigar and a drink when someone I never met approached the group.  After some introductions were made he asked if we liked scotch.  He then said that he had heard that some guy gave a great class on the stuff a few days ago and it was all anyone in his campsite was talking about.  No mention was made about how pretty this mystery man was, but you can’t win ‘em all.

Sláinte