Hard to Swallow

As Lauren/Laurie scoots in her chair, I lean forward. Like Smirnoff Ice, I am smooth and sophisticated. I am a new breed of man, not some old-fashioned boor afraid to take chances.

"I don't think you can sit there," I impart to her coolly, "since we know each other." She looks at me, confused, trying to place my face. "Don't you remember?" I flash my most coquettish smile. "Last summer?"

She laughs and makes a quip about this one time at band camp. But then Jessica grabs the ring finger of Laurie's left hand. "She's married," she says, training the modest stone of her friend's wedding band on my eye like a laser pointer. I can hear John snickering behind us. That was neither crisp nor refreshing. Retreating into my chair, I casually glance one table down at the guy Laurie came in here with. With his overgrown stubble and thrift-store T-shirt, he looks like a geeky record-store clerk. That's her husband? His canvas messenger bag is probably filled with rare vinyl by the Smiths and empty Kleenex boxes.

Finally, the researchers bring in the first of many forms that we will need to fill out. This one asks about our drinking habits and lists the Smirnoff Citrus Snow flavor, as well as two other choices: Blackberry Blizzard and Green Apple Freeze. None of them sounds particularly appetizing. As far as I'm concerned, hard liquor and sweets should be combined on only one occasion: Halloween, after the kids have gone to bed. Other than that, if you're the type of person who hates the taste of alcohol so much that you need to mask it with something from the candy aisle, you should probably stick to sucking down Vicodin with Robitussin chasers alongside all the other listless teens behind the mall. But the survey wants to know "Which one of these flavors appeals to you the most?" so I circle Green Apple as an act of sarcastic rebellion. When do we move on to discussing serious issues that matter to the youth of America, like straight Smirnoff?

The researchers collect the forms. Jessica and Laurie both circled Citrus Snow. When the researchers re-emerge from the back room with many plastic cups, I realize that the choice each individual circled on the survey will be the flavor that person samples for the entire study.

We get another form, headed "How do you like the overall appearance of this sample?" and listing these choices:

like extremely

like very much

like moderately

like slightly

neither like/dislike

dislike moderately

dislike slightly

dislike very much

dislike extremely

I examine the contents of my cup, which look something like a frozen margarita. I'm a little peeved about being stuck with green apple, so I punish the drink by circling "dislike slightly." The questions continue: How do I like the color? How do I feel about the smell and the "overall aroma"? The form then instructs me to "cleanse" my "palate" by taking a bite of cracker and drink of water. I must finish the whole drink before continuing, the instructions order, and I do so in large, frozen gulps. Do I approve of the "level of iciness?" What about the texture?

Before I can finish writing, I'm served another drink. This one has a trace of green coloring, and the green-apple flavoring is more pronounced. What do I like about this one?

"It's greener," I write.

Dislike?

"It's too sweet," I scribble, shaking large chunks into my mouth. "I kind of have a headache."

I am not even two sips into Sample #2 when one of the researchers sets a new drink in front of me. I'm not drinking fast enough, apparently. Me! I've been accused of a lot of things, but never of drinking too slowly. I take a big slug. These damn questions keep tripping me up. Do I dislike it slightly or dislike it moderately? The green-apple flavor in the next sample is stronger yet -- but at least I can taste the alcohol. This will be my third drink in fifteen minutes. Halfway through, I start feeling benevolent. I check "like very much" on the questionnaire. Laurie and Jessica start to giggle. I begin laughing, too. This is so...silly! Laurie looks at me, and I am startled by her suddenly heavy, bloodshot eyes.

"I drank these way too fast," she says. "My nose is numb."

"How clean and crisp is the taste?"

Extremely clean and crisp

Very clean and crisp

Somewhat clean and crisp

Slightly clean and crisp

Not at all clean and crisp.

After a few more swills, I get a wicked throat freeze. Reaching for the bottled water, I spill Sample #3 on the survey. As I wipe it up with a paper napkin, the answers get smudged.

"Oh, you've done it now," Laurie laughs.

I'm starting to feel like I'm not a very good test-taker. I stick an entire cracker in my mouth.

According to Burgos, Cunningham sometimes has trouble getting reliable respondents for the alcohol taste tests, since they require that people show up at a specific time and place. On the flip side, some respondents are too reliable. "There are people who call up every single day wondering if they can test products out," she says. "They'll hit up every research group in the city. This is how they try to make their living, but I don't think they ever earn enough money to make it worth it."