You're patiently waiting your turn to order a beer, but it's taking far too long. Why? Because something vile is occurring at the other end of the bar.

"Could I try a taste of that IPA? Oooh, too bitter. OK, how 'bout that barleywine? Too boozy, hmmm. Lemme get...a...sip of that…pilsner. Ummmm. You know what, I think I'll just stick with an Allagash White."

It's the habitual beer sampler, the absolute worst kind of bar customer.

This might be an unpopular sentiment, even amongst my beer drinking brethren and sistren, but I absolutely hate the practice of beer samples. You know what I'm talking about, those free one- or two-ounce splashes of a sip that are supposed to clue you into whether you actually want to fork over some money for a full glass.

In actuality, all they do is waste everyone's time.

"But I need those samples!"

I know, I know, with craft beer bars now having twenty, thirty, sometimes even forty taps, it can be hard to decide what to get. The paradox of choice is so paralyzing! Even if you're the kind of person who fritters his life away studying the TalkBeer forums all day long—guilty—there's still thousands of American breweries adding ten of thousands of new beers into the world every single year. It's become virtually impossible to know what everything tastes like on an esoteric beer menu at a top-notch joint like, say, Proletariat in Manhattan or Map Room in Chicago.

I get that. And I feel your pain.

Still, I can't tell you how much of my life I must sit around thirsty and sober because some yahoo has asked for taste after taste after ceaseless taste of that kölsch (too boring) and then that gose (too salty) and finally that gueuze (too tart!) before simply ordering his old standby.

Why are you taking so long to decide?!

Because, ultimately it doesn't really matter what you get. Beer isn't ice cream and you don't only get one chance to make the correct decision. Look, I understand the desire for a few free tastes at a Cold Stone Creamery. There's a lot of damn flavors with silly names and maybe you only cheat on your diet once a week with that single-scoop waffle cone. So you might actually need a few tiny spoons-worth of Birthday Cake Remix or Cookie Doughn't You Want Some before deciding what your one big purchase is going to be.

But beer doesn't work that way.

Virtually no one goes to the bar for just a beer. We go for two or three or sometimes, "Shit, did I really have ten last night?" Yet we all still worry so much about making a "mistake."

It's not just me who hates it. I know many bars loathe it as well. I couldn't get anyone to go on the record because they don't want any punitive Yelp reviews from you inveterate sample grifters, but I've had plenty of bartenders and beverage directors tell me the exact same thing, almost in this exact same phrasing:

"You wouldn't ask for a sample of anything else in our bar, so why beer?"

Imagine:

Could I just try a little splash of that Ardbeg Uigeadail? You know, just to see if I want a full dram.

Would you mind giving me a single buffalo wing? I want to see how hot they are before ordering a dozen.

Your house Boulevardier—I'd like a taste of it. Shake me up a teeny tiny cocktail, good sir!

Those scenarios all sound so silly, yet people are still so brash about asking for, let's be blunt, free beer. Like it's their god-given right.

It's never, "Do you mind if I try that?" but often "Lemme have a taste of that."

I know, I know, some bars and their bartenders proudly note the second you walk in, "We'll offer you a taste of anything!" all with a smile on their face. But they don't actually like it. They just like it a whole helluva lot better than standing there idly while you scan their paper menu and then the big chalkboard on the back wall and then the row of tap handles and then mumble something about whether there's a bottle list or not.

It's not just an epidemic in America.

"People who want a taster of every ale and then end up just ordering a half!" complained an anonymous man in an article about the top complaints of UK pub bartenders. I feel their British pain.

We haven't even talked about the costs of all these free-flowing freebies. Believe it or not, beer actually costs money. Just because it comes in a tiny shot glass doesn't mean it's free. Kegs of truly great craft beer can run bars $150 to upwards of $250 or more. At 661 ounces per sixtel keg, your free taster of beer could be costing the bar some fifty cents or so every single time you get one. And how many people are getting how many free samples every single night? They certainly aren't tipping on the bartender's hustle to fill up your freebies.

In my book, this is like pounding the house bread basket and then asking for a refill before ordering an entree. Not illegal, just frowned upon (unless you're at The Olive Garden).

Luckily, things are starting to change as great craft beer becomes more the norm and complicated beer menus become more comprehensible to your average schmo. Of late I've noticed many bars like Churchkey in Washington, D.C. simply charging for their small pours or, better yet, offering flights. (We won't even discuss how bartenders hate putting together your flight paddle, especially at busier times. Though I will admit being guilty of the occasional flight order).

On a recent trip to San Francisco, I was pleasantly surprised to see most all of their great bars not offering free tasters whatsoever. When I saw a woman at Mikkeller Bar try to get a sample of Prairie Somewhere, I watched as a bartender politely told her, "The size listed is what we serve." While at City Beer, I caught a man trying to snag a sample of The Rare Barrel's Map of the Sun, an $11-a-glass apricot sour. "That's simply too expensive to offer you a taste," the bartender cooly replied. (The customer ordered it anyway.)

So people, can we stop wasting bartenders' and our fellow drinkers' time, stop scamming a few free ounces of beer every trip to the bar, and just man (and woman) up and try to take a stab at something you think you might like to drink?!

It'll only cost you a $5 bill or two...and it'll still get you drunk. Even if you hate it. I guarantee it.

Aaron Goldfarb Aaron Goldfarb lives in Brooklyn and is a novelist and the author of 'Hacking Whiskey.'

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