He had no idea how much it was worth.
It was a just a bottle he’d had in his cupboard for about… actually, he wasn’t sure how long. Twenty years? Thirty?
Shannon’s Uncle Ron is a top-tier houseguest. He’s largely self-catering and he always brings gifts.
He had brought a bottle of single malt whisky for me this trip. A bottle he’d had for decades. It looked old. Not like Raiders Of The Lost Ark Holy Grail old but definitely from around the time we still didn’t know Harrison Ford wore an earring.
I, being gauche, crass and severely couth-deficient, always enjoy using the Google camera search to see how much these types of things cost. Now, I don’t do that with evidently new bottles of booze or wine I’ve been given, only ones that seem old (this is a blatant lie).
Uncle Ron is not a rich man. He does just fine but he’s frugal. He would never spend an exorbitant amount of money on a bottle of anything.
The results popped up on my phone’s screen.
This bottle of single malt that was now mine - I mean, legally, it was right? He’d handed it over - was now worth $1,100.
Panic set in.
My thumb slowly retreated from the foil.
Shannon, Uncle Ron and I were in a bit of a tizzy. What do we do now?
It feels like we should keep it unopened and drink some cheap whisky instead.
We should save this bottle.
But then, in a seemingly joint realization, we thought save it for what?
We weren’t going to sell it. That was determined quickly.
We were going to drink it eventually… but on a special occasion.
What special occasion? When Uncle Ron was dead?
He’s much older than us and the preferable first exit, but that seemed cruel… Uncle Ron’s last thought being “I wonder how that whisky will taste?”
No… screw that.
I opened the bottle.
Let’s celebrate Now.
This moment of calm.
This moment of being together.
This moment of living.
It was delicious.
###
(Pictured: Old man author [sans spectacles] drinks even older whisky)
Whiskey can be a store of value or better than that an accompaniment to great memories. You chose well. Bottoms up.