Man, drinking out of a Mason jar is good times. Pour some crisp water in there, keep it at your desk at work. Makes you look like you’re too busy to get a real glass. Makes you look like Don Draper back when he was Dick Whitman. Makes your boss give you that promotion over Stanley, because Stanley drinks out of a fucking Nalgene. Who’s Stanley trying to impress? No one, evidently.
Fucking the only way to drink a beer at home that isn’t in a bottle is out of a Mason jar. Hard day at the office, pop open two bottles and pour them into that Mason jar. No one will be the wiser, except the guy who empties out your recycling, but you know that motherfucker drinks out of a Mason jar, because a garbage man is the Walker Texas Ranger of the 21st century, minus all the Republican tendencies.
The only fucking way to get fucked up at the office is out of a Mason jar. Your boss already thinks you just love staying hydrated, I mean, that’s why you got the VP gig in the first place. So tomorrow, just fill that shit up with straight vodka. Once again, no one will be the wiser, except for you, who will be the fucked-upped-er. Just remember to pass out over a spreadsheet or whatever, and if anyone asks about it, you’re just burning the midnight oil, picking up the slack because Stanley can’t carry his weight. Throw in a joke about Stanley’s weight there, if you feel up to it, I mean, that’s the kind of camaraderie you can forge while sipping from a Mason jar.
Let people wonder if you’re really into canning preserves. I mean, don’t say anything outright, keep the mystery alive, but leave that shit to the imaginations. Maybe during that two weeks you took off to go to rehab, you were really just in the woods somewhere, tending to some spectacular raspberry patches. They don’t know.
Maybe one day, bring an extra Mason jar into work and fill it with M&Ms. That dick over in accounts receivable can make as many jokes as he wants to about your breath smelling like a Bukowski poem, but Bukowski never wrote shit about drinking whipped cream vodka out of a Mason jar while taking a quarterly earnings call while cramming a bunch of M&Ms in his mouth. Or did he? I don’t know, I’m not completely familiar with his oeuvre.
No one ever called a man drinking out of a Mason jar a shitty father.
Most of the time 7-11 is pretty cool with you filling your Mason jar with Slurpee as long as you ask them beforehand and pay the full refill price.
Only once did a stripclub bouncer not let me into the fucking Seventh Veil even though I clearly wasn’t that intoxicated and I mean what did he want me to do just leave the Mason jar on the street, I mean fuck you, Gary, I’m here every week, just go get Missy, she’ll vouch for me.
This is why we’re a nation in decline, because I saw a man drinking out of a hose in his backpack the other day like some sort of low-rent camel. Nothing beats the cold condensation you get when partaking in a delicious beverage from a Mason jar. After you break all your real glasses and you can’t drive back to IKEA because your car is being a piece of shit right now and even if you could you wouldn’t want to because it would just remind you of when you went there with her and bought all those glasses to begin with and how she kept talking about how she was going to get into canning. But she’s fucking gone now, man, and she can take the cat and she can take the couch and she can take the kid, but she can’t take the Mason jars. Or at least, I mean, she forgot to.
Mason jar up, America.