36 Is The New 40

** Read this on Everything On Tap! **



When my friend and I were planning our Memorial Day Weekend trip to Atlanta, the neon signs in our brains flashed only two messages—“AQUARIUM!!” and “40s!!” Okay, so odds are you’re thinking these are the travel destinations of two lame 17-year-olds. But the odds also are that you’re from one of the 49 states that don’t rhyme with “Glorida”—and that you’ve never experienced the true majesty of seeing a Beluga whale in person, but I digress. As two native Floridians, my friend and I just so happened to be born in the one state that outlawed the purchase of 40oz beers. Consequently, we, along with all other Florida natives, hold 40s on a higher pedestal than unicorns; yes, they’re also magically mysterious and unattainable, but to top all of that—they get us wasted. Because of this, any road trip crossing state lines is incomplete without a shady gas station shelf-clearing pit stop. It is our quest, our destiny, our drunk Holy Grail.


After devouring every single exhibit at the legendary Georgia Aquarium, we knew what we needed to do. We swerved into the first convenience store we could find, and bought six or seven gargantuan beers between the two of us. Our mission was a success. We were satisfied, relieved, then confused. This, this right here is what everyone freaks out about back home? We can buy 36oz beers anywhere in our crazy native state, but I guess we expected more in that extra 4 ounces—a surprise shot of vodka, a golden ticket to a murderous chocolate factory, a key to all life’s mysteries—hell, I don’t know. But with all the hype 40s get back in Florida, the only reason we could justify the bottle’s celebrity status is that Edward 36-Hands doesn’t have as much of a ring to it.

All in all, smashing PBRs with elderly strippers at Clermont Lounge and injecting ourselves with idiotic amounts of caffeine at the World of Coca-Cola made our trip to Atlanta incredibly awesome. But to all my Florida brethren and sistren (that should totally be a word, right?!), the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. Let’s not blindly worship the overinflated smallness of the 40. You can still get refreshingly annihilated with 36 ounces of alcohol. If not, what’s stopping you from buying another and trying with 72 ounces?! Exactly. You’ll find a way, I believe in you.


Let’s not get it twisted, I’m still quite proud of my newly-acquired supply of comically large beers. Am I going to drink them? Eh, not anytime soon. (We must always remember what “quality” of beers get the 40 treatment in the first place.) But for now, they’ll be sitting, waiting, until an unsuspecting guest opens up my fridge and gets slapped in the face with my undeserving badassness. “You got 40s?!” Yes, and duct tape. Let’s do this.