The List

Jason Sandford

Jason Sandford is a reporter, writer, blogger and photographer interested in all things Asheville.

1

I was not on The List.

The aproned counter clone at the Asheville Wine Market delivered the news coldly. I’d made a special trip down Biltmore Avenue this morning because the Asheville Wine Market is where I shop for my specialty beers and wines, especially during the holiday season. I made the trip because I thought I was on The List.

But the wine jockey, eyeing the computer printout on his clipboard, shook his head. “I don’t see your name here on The List.”

I’ve been patronizing this particular wine shop for more than a decade. Over the years, it’s location has changed. The variety of libations, all bubbly with promise, have ebbed and flowed with the seasons. But there were constants.

First and foremost was proprietor Eberhard Heide. A walking encyclopedia of knowledge about all things malt and hop, grape and vine, Eb can take the greenest connoiseur of alcoholic treats and make them feel like the most sagacious sommelier. Enter his shop, and if you’re so inclined, you’ll come away knowing a little more than when you entered.

I’ve admired Eb, also, for being one of a small group of downtown Ashvegas business owners/pioneers who hung a shingle out long before the boom we’re experiencing now.

Finally, the shop has never been pretentious. Used to be that snooty wine shop owners would look down their nose bouquet at you for asking the difference between a pinot and a cabernet. Eb and Eb’s shop never put on airs. I appreciated that.

Back at the counter, I stood silent, waiting for the clerk to make it right. I’d called two weeks ago to have my name added to the shop’s record of those who had called to reserve a case of this year’s Cold Mountain Ale. It’s a much sought-after product of Highland Brewing Company each year because the company brews a limited amount. And it tastes like Christmas in your mouth. It sells out.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see your name here.” The clerk stood, eyes again scanning his clipboard. There, I spotted names of three or four of my co-workers, and my anger grew. Lines of yellow highlighter marked the names of the winners, those who’d already picked up their precious cargo. The list mocked me. I felt shamed. I wasn’t on The List.

I let the silence stretch into uncomfortable territory. The clerk explained that the store only orders the number of cases to match the number of names on The List. So there’s no margin for error.

“I can tell you where to go to find…”

I stood and stared back at the clerk. At times like this, I can go one of two ways. I’ll fume and not say another word. Or I’ll go off, make a scene, rub the mistake in their face, demand to talk to a manager. For some reason, perhaps like a snake not long enough in the sun to strike, I remained coiled. I walked away.

I know it’s just beer. And I did find my case at Greenlife Grocery, my new most favorite store in Ashvegas. But I felt bitter. Betrayed. There was no offer of apology. No acknowledgement at all. No make-good free bottle of cheap wine. Nothing.

That’s how you reward a dozen years of diehard support? Ok, I’ll cut the kid some slack. He doesn’t know me, doesn’t know my association with the shop. Still, couldn’t he have come up with something better than, “You’re not on The List.”

Asheville Wine Market, you just lost one loyal customer.