There’s this old joke going around. I
heard Colin Quinn tell it recently. It goes like this:
This guy goes into a pet shop looking to buy a parrot. The person at the counter says, “You don't want to buy this parrot. He's got a filthy mouth.” But the guy goes “I can handle it.” The parrot comes home with him. The parrot says, “Hey, Mister, Mister.” He goes, “What?” The parrot goes “Go f*ck yourself.” The guy goes, “Don't talk to me like that.” He smacks the cage. He beats up the parrot and he goes,“Don't ever...I'm not the guy to play with like that.” Next day, he comes home. The parrot goes, “Hey, Mister, Mister.” He goes, “What?” The parrot says, “Go f*ck yourself.” The guy goes nuts. “You piece of…” He smashes the cage. He almost strangles the parrot. He goes, “Next time you tell me to go f*ck myself, I'm going to kill you. I promise you; I'm going to kill you.” Next day, he shows up after work. The parrot goes, “Hey, Mister, Mister.” The guy goes, “What?” The parrot says, “You know what!”
Many of us are like that when we buy wine retail or order it in a restaurant these days. It’s not that we don’t know what we’re getting into, but we go ahead anyway and then when it doesn’t go the way we wanted it to, we find we have landed in chaos. All because we bought the damn parrot.
I was in a store recently working on a marketing project. And someone comes up to me looking for a particular Italian wine. “I want something rich, like a Napa Cabernet or a Sonoma Coast Pinot Noir.” (right then I just wanted to tell him the parrot swears, but I refrained myself.) “Well, we’re in an Italian only place, so why don’t you tell me what you’re going to eat with the wine?
The guy thinks for a minute, scrunches his nose, and says “Big meat!” that’s all he says. Big meat.
So, I’m in the section where there are Super Tuscans, Brunellos and Nebbiolos. And I give him a couple of suggestions. “You got anything in Amarone?” Uh, yeah, the owner is crazy about Amarone. So, I lead him to the Amarone section. At this point he’s on his phone and pointing at one of the wines. My cloaking device must have been activated, because it’s like I’m not even there. I’m used to that, so I give the guy some space. Finally he pulls from the rack an inordinately huge Amarone, and one with a hefty price tag as well.
“What do you think of this one? He asks. I tell him
it’s a big wine, a really, really big wine. My equivalent of “this parrot’s got
a filthy mouth.” I have a handful of Sangiovese wines that would probably do
him better and at 1/3 to 1/2 the price. But I can tell he’s looking to impress
somebody. So, I let him be the decision maker. And off he goes with the parrot.
Another guy, another time, comes up to me looking for a Sangiovese, around $20. He’s youngish, in his 30’s, knows what he wants, but I suggest a couple of others, in case he wants to mix it up.
Then, for some reason we start talking about sparkling wine. “Italians make sparkling wine?” he asks. “Not only do they make it, but they are famous as some of the highest per capita consumers of sparkling wine, including Champagne, on the planet. He’s got date night on his mind, I can tell from the way he’s talking. So, I lead him over to the sparkling wine section. And then I tell him about the parrot. “This one is pretty sassy. It will get you and your date into just the right mood. Or so my younger brother tells me.” He looks at it, “I don’t like rosé,” he says. Oops. Either I misread him, or he didn’t understand what I was telling him. In any case I pointed to three relatively expensive Franciacorta wines, all of which I’ve had, and told him that any of those should work for him just fine. Not saying “But I cannot speak for your date’s preferences.” I could, in the case of the rosé sparkler, as all of my anecdotal data pointed to it. But hey, he wanted to buy the parrot that he wanted. So, what do you do? You sell the guy the damn parrot.
"What?" the guy says? The parrot says, "You know what!?
