Upon leaving this little square mile of heaven in a few months, there will be a few things I’ll miss: irresponsibility, my friends, walking to the bar during off hours at work and sitting on the beach in the middle of February, to name a few.
But perhaps one of Santa Barbara’s specialties I will miss the most is the one you would least expect – the 30-pack. Sure, back home you can pick up 30 Buds or 30 Tecates if your heart so desires, but where else can you manage the fiscally appeasing 30 ‘stones or 30 Nattys?
As much as I’d like to think that Sports Illustrated has already rolled out the red carpet for me upon graduation, I’m a realist; I’ll probably be bussing tables somewhere in the greater Sacramento area, spending most of my time at local watering holes. But that’s neither here nor there, the bottom line is: I’ll still be broke. And hence, when I visit the local Bel Air with my eyes searching for one of those perfectly symmetrical gray Natty boxes of bliss, I’ll be distracted by obnoxious, expensive 30s of Bud and Coors.
The difference in between $13 – your typical tag for 30 ‘stones and Nattys – and $20 is like night and day. Think of all the great things you can do with seven bucks. You can buy one of those bomb chicken things at the Deli Mart, with a Gatorade, to boot.
You could buy a nice new pair of socks.
You could buy enough blue books to last you a year.
You could crumple it up and throw it at someone you don’t like.
If you’re feeling a little unimportant, you could pay me to put your name in the Nexus (Nikki Moore, you’re so cool).
Besides, after four years of living in I.V. our tastes are so numb to domestic beer that it all tastes the same. Is Bud Light really that much better than Natty? According to my inside source – the good tour guide at the Bud factory up north – Natty Light is no different than Bud Light, except the ingredients are of slightly less quality. I have no problem with that.
So aside from missing that giant wall of cheap 30-packs at Albertsons, this begs the next question: Why 24-packs? The Safeway by my house in Citrus Heights sells 24-packs of Natty and Keystone, but nary a 30 to be found.
Twenty-four isn’t even a worthwhile number. It’s worn out and overused. Twenty-four hours in a day can lead to a copious amount of redundancy, 24 Hour Fitness, “24/7 coverage” and that one TV show everyone is so hooked on.
What the fuck does the number 30 have?
Sure, it has the whole “30 seconds” reference going for it, but it still hasn’t been whored around like the number 24 has. Besides, Barry Bonds used to wear the number 24, and apparently (see: Nexus valentines), I’m a Dodgers fan, so naturally, I should hate the number. Besides, 30 beers means five games of beer pong, 24 is a measly four.
Another gripe I have with the disparity of 30 packs outside of the utopia of college towns, is why lowball beer and sell a lower number?
Aren’t we the United fucking States of America, land of the free, home of the brave, country of the “if you make something, we’ll make it bigger?”
There is a serious continuity problem with our national ideology.
Thirty just sounds so much more inspiring than 24 does. Makes me wanna go out and change the world or something, hell yeah, let’s go!
Oh wait, I still have to finish the last six beers of this 30-pack…
Even after finishing off a 30-pack, Daily Nexus Sports Editor Sean Swaby can still spell Shwarma correctly.