Ode to a Beer Mat

Yesterday, I learned of yet another tragic side-effect of the recession: the death of the beer mat.

What’s a beer mat, you ask? It’s the little cardboard coaster you find at your local bar, pub, or family restaurant. It usually features a beer logo, sometimes paired with a clever advertising slogan.

Save one if you see one. It just may be the last.

The world’s largest beer mat maker – Katz Group – has gone bankrupt. As a result, beer mats face imminent extinction. Always one to jump the gun, I’ve penned a preemptive eulogy.

Ode to a Beer Mat

Beer mat, you will be sorely missed.

I still remember the first time I laid eyes on you. It was 1987.  My family was having dinner at Chili’s in Sunnyvale. I collected a stack of you, and walked around the restaurant attempting to sell you to fellow diners for a nickel apiece. Believe it or not, I even sold a few.

Looking back, this story is not so much testament to your worth as it is to my parents’ neglect.  But still.

I guess the point is… I’ve known you for a really long time.

Beer mat, how will we live without your gentle embrace (of the bottom of our glasses)? What will happen to bar tops everywhere? Will water rings run wild?

What will frat boys hang on their walls? Where will douchebags jot down their digits? And what about the tortured artists? Where will they scribble spontaneous verse? Or sketch that abstract figure that begs to be drawn right here, right now, in this bar?

Napkins don’t withstand the hard press of a pen, or an unforeseen overflow of beer. No sir. You are truly one of a kind. 

Now that we must part, I can’t help but feel remorse for the times we never had.

I regret those of you I’ve lost along the way, on this crazy journey we call life.

And I feel guilty for devaluing you the way I did, when I bought my boyfriend (a staunch coaster enthusiast) your replacement: a set of coasters not made of cardboard.

I’m sorry.

It just seemed like someone so passionately anti-water ring should have coasters that aren’t decorated in beer stains;  coasters whose edges don’t curl up.

But the truth is, you’d served him well. You’d been there for him time and time again; always within reach when a guest carelessly put down their glass, unprotected. I was foolish not to see that at the time.

I was blind to your beer-soaked beauty. Deaf to your quiet dignity.

But alas, like so many icons, you’ll be celebrated even more in death than in life. You’ll be a rare and precious gem. A collector’s item. And entrepreneurial seven year olds – if they are lucky enough to get their hands on you – will get a lot more than a nickel and a roll of the eyes.

Rest in peace.