A few years ago, I worked at a hobby games company here in Seattle. I realize that given my resume this isn’t as descriptive as it could be, but the name of the place isn’t that important, save to extend this paragraph. Besides, I fully expect the persons about to be not named to out themselves in the comments.

One of my co-workers had been with the company for some time, and when an organizational change removed both of our managerial positions, he decided that rather do a job he didn’t believe in, he would instead fulfill his life-long dream of full-time musicianhood (shut up, internets. I R Wrytar!).

This individual was already remarkably well rounded, and his gigging was successful enough that his wife had to “gently coerce” him to actually spend his largess. My peer and I shared a lot of likes and dislikes (needless organizational changes being among the foremost of these), but when he arrived in the office on his last day bearing this:

I knew it was going to be a good day.

“What are they going to do, fire me?”

Mind you, our workplace was pretty hip in those days. There were a lot of drinkers, and in fact our entire team were lunchtime and happy hours (we often hit both iterations in the same night) regulars at the local brewpub. The fact that there was an expensive bottle of single malt just sitting there waiting to be drunk fazed no-one, nor did the knowledge that the bottle would not be leaving the building.

So we cracked that sucker, and it was good.

Those sitting closest to the tasticenter (word, it’s a word!) were able to sample the awesome multiple times, and there was about 1/3 of the bottle left when a specific co-worker came over and asked, “What’s this?”

As near as the scotch-addled collection of electrical impulses that is my memory recorded it, this was what happened next:

Me: (hands over a glass with a generous finger) It’s scotch.
She: It tastes like burning
He: That’s the good parts!
She: Really though, what is it?
Me: It’s 29 years old.
She: Huh. That’s more than me!
Me and He: (dies inside)
Me: (corks bottle)

Now technically, I was saving the last glass for my former assistant, who was at an offsite activity of some sort during all this. I think he called it lunch or something, the details are somewhat hazy. He/We’d already secured him another job worth having in the company, and he may have been talking about something important with his new supervisor.

Whatever.

Full of warm peaty goodness, I put the bottle and its remaining bit of awesome in my desk drawer, and went back to my now meaningless but enhanced workday.

Later, when my no longer assistant but still friend came back, he thanked me/us for saving him a swallow, but told us he wasn’t really a scotch person. He himself just managed to outstrip the bottle in longevity, and like the me of time preferred his malt in beer form.

So now I’ve got this bottle. Departing co-worker says to put it to good use when the time is right, and since I’d put my fiction writing career on hold to take this particular job in the first place, I decided that my next professional sale would be a celebratory occasion.

So, that was 7 years ago. I’ve moved that bottle around some, checking in on it every so often to make sure it was a) still viable, and b) still “full.” That last drink waited patiently in the back of my booze cabinet since that day, eclipsed by lesser distillations but never forgotten.

A few months ago, I made that sale. But until Monday, I really had nothing to share about it, and after 7 years I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to tell this story to the world. So when I got home that night, I took my celebratory vengeance.

Why do I share this with you? Because that bottle was really tasty. It was limited edition, numbered, and the booze within was started almost 40 years ago now.

And I want some more.

So I have a request of you all.

BUY MY BOOK.

It’s cheaper than the good stuff, and it will make me just as happy. And while you’re at it (or if you need something else to spend your rock and roll lifestyle monies on), buy some of the other Foreworld products.

In a couple months, if you see me smiling with another blue can, you’ll know your money was well spent.