Old Weller Antique 107

You know, when I opened my little whiskey shop, I imagined something… romantic. A place where neighbors could come in, ask what’s new, maybe we talk about mash bills and nose notes, and everyone leaves happy. But no. Instead, I’ve been drafted into The Hunger Games: Bourbon Edition.

Buffalo Trace/Sazerac doesn’t just give it to retailers. Oh no. You don’t get the bourbon. You earn the bourbon. Like it’s a sacred relic guarded by a snarky Indiana Jones villain with a clipboard.

Want a bottle of Weller Anique 107? Fantastic. All you have to do is buy twelve cases of cinnamon-flavored napalm, six barrels of bottom-shelf regret, and something called “Maple Bacon Ghost Whiskey,” which I assume was invented on a dare by two interns and a raccoon.

Look, I run a very small whiskey shop. Tiny. Intimate. Boutique, if you will. It smells like old leather, toasted oak, and just a hint of financial ruin. And somehow I’ve become the unwilling protagonist in what can only be described as the Bourbon Hunger Games.

Small businesses like mine? We’re the last kid picked for dodgeball.  Meanwhile, Big Retail is out there doing cannonballs into pools of Weller, handing out Blanton’s like it’s Halloween candy.

The best part? The “package deals.” Oh yeah. They hit you with that. “Want this nice bottle of whiskey? Cool, but first—buy a pallet of ‘Sazerac Frostbite: Wintermint Whiskey Liqueur for Dogs.’” So now I’m knee-deep in artificially flavored despair, while customers come in asking if I’ve got any Blanton’s “in the back.” No, Stephen, I have a broken spirit in the back. That’s what I’ve got.

But hey, at least I almost got a bottle of Old Weller Antique once… right after I bought 42 cases of whiskey-flavored mouthwash and sold my soul to a distributor in exchange for one bottle of E.H. Taylor Small Batch that was “damaged in transit.”

Scarcity economics, folks. It’s sexy, it’s mysterious, and it’s absolutely screwing over the little guy so unfortunately I do not have any