Review – Nearest Green Distillery, Uncle Nearest 1856, (No Age Stated), 50%

The thing about writing satire is that sometimes I just don’t feel very funny. Sometimes, I’m tired of the sound of my own voice in my own head. Thankfully, the world around me is reliably absurd. Thankfully, its voice, while equally exhausting, is forever resonating with foolish things worthy of ridicule.

For example, consider my morning.

I was tired. I did not sleep well. I did not feel funny. On my way to the office, I stopped at a grocery store for a half gallon of milk. I keep milk in my office refrigerator because I’ve started eating my breakfast at work. I also purchased a pre-made salad and a bottle of Thousand Island dressing for later.

But these details are unnecessary. The only information you need is that I was at a grocery store, and I was tired. I suppose you also need to know that whenever I park and go into any public place, I always lock my car doors. I drive a two-door Jeep Wrangler that does not have automatic locks. I cannot click a device while walking and lock the doors. I have to lock them manually. I usually lock the passenger door while still sitting in the driver’s seat. I lean over and flip the toggle. Next, I exit the vehicle, being sure to do the same with the driver-side door. Finally, I walk to the rear of the Jeep, press a button on the vehicle’s key fob that ejects a key like a switchblade, insert the key into the rear gate’s keyhole, and lock it.

I do this everywhere I go. Thankfully, a passive-aggressive comment from a black gentleman passing by during the key fob leg of my routine so graciously taught me that this is what white racist men do when a black man is around. They see him coming and lock their car doors.

Was he joking around when he said this? I don’t know. Was it his peculiar way of acknowledging an early-morning passerby in a parking lot? Again, I cannot answer the inquiry. I was tired. I did not sleep well. I wanted a half gallon of milk, a salad, and some Thousand Island dressing.

But no matter my physical condition or nutritional desires, here’s the thing.

I could be at a tiny mom-and-pop store in the middle of nowhere with no other person for two hundred miles; I could be at a similar store in a densely populated city filled with only white people. Do you know what I’d do before going into either store for some beef jerky and a Coke? I’d lock my car doors.

I. Do. This. Everywhere. I. Go.

I am not a racist for locking my car doors. In fact, the exercise proves the absolute opposite premise. It proves I feel the same about everyone. I lock my doors to keep everyone out. I don’t care if you’re black, white, or black-and-white striped. If you’re not me, you shouldn’t have uninvited access to my car.

Again, I don’t know what stirred the comment. But I began this jaunt by saying that even when I don’t feel funny, the world at least provides things worthy of laughter. Of course, racism is not funny. It’s dreadful. But it is worth mocking. It is worth saying that only a certified deadbeat could ever thoroughly believe he is better than someone else because of his race or skin color. It is worth saying that it does not matter who’s engaging in it. That said, a man who sees me doing what normal human beings do in a public parking lot and then, because of the color of my skin, imposes sinister aims upon my actions, such a man has become racism’s emblem and is worthy of stinging commentary.

“But what about his context, his experiences?”

Whatever. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know my context or experiences either. And since neither of us knows these things, how about we start with friendliness? How about we say “Hello” to one another in the parking lot instead of artificially inserting unfortunate divides?

Even better, how about we express rage over the things that deserve it? How about we complain about what deserves our complaints? For example, what’s keeping the milk carton manufacturers from getting the design right?  How is it that with some cartons, when you first pour the milk, it streams into one’s bowl perfectly, but with others, the milk’s first route is straight down the carton’s side? Or better yet, when are we going to start locking up society’s real criminals, like the folks who perpetually occupy the passing lane while miles of cars line up behind them? Persecute them.

Criminalize the people who take everything personally. Persecute the folks who feel the need always to be the victim. Make their ridiculous inclinations worth their while. Lock up the ones who are late for everything. Imprison the people who talk to people beside them at the same volume they’d use if the person were on the other side of a railroad crossing with a train passing between them. Throw the serial gossipers in a cell beside them.

Or how about we reverse the tenor?

How about we spend more time commending beautiful things without qualifying their beauty based on race, gender, or whatever? How about we refrain from voting for a candidate because she’s a woman but instead because she is qualified? Closer to my immediate context, how about we buy and drink a whiskey like Uncle Nearest 1856 because it’s good and not because its enterpriser, Dan Call, who, as the website describes, was “a righteous man and Lutheran preacher of the highest regard,” or because the actual whiskey’s formulation and masterful creation came from Nathan “Nearest” Green, a black man?

How about we take our praise to an even higher level? How about we rejoice in the friendship between Reverend Call and Green—a white man and a black man—even during a time when racism was actually a thing worth fighting and dying to end?

Let’s do this instead. And let’s do it while tipping back the whiskey I already mentioned. Let’s clink our glasses before taking in its toffee and sugar maple scents. Let’s sip its caramel apple sweetness and enjoy its cinnamon sting. Let’s smile along as its medium-fade of wood spice, caramel chews, and pepper draws us to pour another.

Let’s do these things together, regardless of race, color, or creed. And as we do, let’s start sketching ideas for a 100 percent mess-free milk carton.

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