Last Monday and Tuesday we were all set; the beer-phone lines were open. As an advanced level beer consumer, you’ll know what we’re talking about; this is when you phone the Westvleteren Abbey to order three crates of trappist beer. After that, you drive 300 kilometers to the hinterland of Flanders to pick it up. A lot of work but more than worth it.
But there were problems on the beer-phone lines. It was so hard to get through that we even felt encouraged when we got the engaged tone. And this wasn’t the first time we had tried for days to get through. Actually, we’ve been trying since March. In spite of supportive messages from people who did manage, we couldn’t.
However, we’re not just beer drinkers – we’re beer drinkers with a mission. We won’t settle for less than the best – and the best is Westvleteren 12. So, we called in the troops for an offensive on the fortress known as the Saint Sixtus Abbey. Troops from India – our very own Gurkhas – hundreds of men sent into the fray to get to that divine beer. Men named Apu, men called Skrikesh, men known as Sahjida; and they all work for the call centre we hired.
Yes, you read it right. ‘Bestetotnutoe’ hired in a complete Indian call centre to place that call to the Abbey. Hundreds of Indians with our order and car registration number on their computer screens trying to get through to the Saint Sixtus Abbey on the intercontinental communications highway. And there we were – relaxing at home, beer in hand, waiting for our phone troops’ triumph.
Finally, we got their call. They had been defeated. They hadn’t managed to get through. ‘We are very sorry sir’. Hordes of ever positive Indians had stormed the province of West Flanders and DID NOT GET THROUGH. They only managed to get a busy signal a few times – just like we did. Unbelievable! God punishes and He’s punishing us.
Contest: And now? Those were the three most expensive crates of beer we never bought. And we still don’t have anything. And we can’t give anything away to those who took part in the competition. The contest is over and there weren’t any winners. That’s why we’re still thinking about something to give to everyone who took part…
Defeated by monks in a West Flanders meadow. Their marketing was 2.0 – as we already knew – and it looks like they’ve also protected their front office well. We know when we’ve lost. Congratulations sirs!
Licking our wounds, we cycled over to the beer shop and paid €12.50 for a single bottle of Westvleteren 12. Adding insult to injury?! Cheers!