A wine merchant’s warehouse was in desperate need of a new taster. A ragged, heavily intoxicated former Marine pilot showed up to apply for the position. Wanting to get rid of the unkempt applicant as quickly as possible, the director decided to put him through an impossible tasting test.
He handed the man a glass. The pilot took a quick sip. “Muscat, three years old, grown on a northern slope, matured in steel tanks. Low grade, but acceptable.”
Stunned, the director handed him a second glass. The pilot sipped again. “Cabernet, eight years old, southwestern slope, aged in oak barrels at eight degrees. Needs about three more years to hit its peak.”
“Exactly right,” gasped the director. Desperate to trip him up, he winked at his secretary. She immediately left the room and returned a minute later with a glass filled with her own urine.
The old pilot took a small sip, swirled it around his mouth, and looked the director dead in the eye.
“It’s a blonde, twenty-six years old, three months pregnant… and if I don’t get this job, I’m naming the father!”
