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A potluck with my coworkers was organized two, maybe three weeks ago and set for Saturday at noon. Naturally, I waited to the last possible second to decide on something to bring. Around 6pm Friday night, still at work, I decided to make bratwurst for the potluck. Costco closes around 8pm so I have plenty of time. Around 7 or so I locked my workstation, turned around and grabbed my jacket, picked up my book, and exited my cube. I get to Costco around 7:30 and hurry inside.

I walked down the meat aisle skimming the packages of meat to find the large slab of bratwurst. I get to the end but don’t see it, so I backtrack going a little slower this time. Still don’t see it. I walk around the corner, but all I could find was five hundred count cases of oranges and grapefruit. A little bit further on I see the ten-pound bags of lettuce. Walking back, I passed by the fifty-packs of kiwi and thirty-packs of bananas. Back down the meat aisle I go, and back again. Still, I don’t see any sign of bratwurst. Annoyed now, I start walking up and down every aisle in the refrigerated section. Finally, I get to the last row and I see packages of sausage links at the end of the row, the holy grail. I rush to the end in case someone in need of a few hundred bratwursts might get there before me. I got there and looked down at the magnificent plastic-sealed packages of juicy tender reddish links of Italian Sausage. Godammit, where are the brats?

I flipped through all the packages to see if the brats might be hidden underneath. I looked down the aisle of meats on the far wall thinking maybe I just missed it. Nah, I couldn’t have missed it, I walked down there so many times already. I settled with getting Italian sausage since there’s no guarantee I’d be able to find it anywhere else and, as the announcer said, Costco would be closed in a few minutes.

I drop two packages in my cart, turn around, and make a run for the beer section to pick up a box of Milwaukee’s Best. Milwaukee’s Best is a beer that is known for one thing: It’s very cheap. I’m told it also tastes very bad, but I’ve never tried it myself. A lesser known fact is that it’s the best way to cook sausage. How is this possible if it tastes so bad? I don’t know.

I was shocked at how small the beer section was. It’s smaller than the section dedicated to wines. I walked by tall stacks of Heineken, Miller Light, Bud Light, Budweiser, Corona, and a handful of Spanish sounding names I didn’t recognize. There’s no Milwaukee’s best. I looked down the length of the warehouse, rolling onto the tips of my toes, to see if there’s another beer section I don’t know about, but didn’t see anything. Walking back through the refrigerated section I flagged an employee restocking one of the coolers. “Is that all of the beer you have?” I ask the guy, gesturing back towards the stacks of cases of beer. “I’m looking for some Milwaukee’s Best,” I explained, then added, “To cook some sausage,” for fear that he might think I actually drink it. “No man, I haven’t seen that stuff for years,” he tells me, “Maybe you should try a local liquor store; they might still carry it there.” I thank him for the information and head towards the checkout mob.

There’s a small liquor store just a mile down the road that I pass by every day to and from work. I figured that’s as good a place as any to check. Inside I’m, surprisingly, greeted by a pair of Asian men, probably the owner and his son. They’re locked inside a large glass enclosure. I assume its bullet proof. I glance up and notice it’s completely open on top. I think, “3-sec, Min bounce” as I walk up to the teller hole. Because the younger man was busy taking care of another customer, I asked the older man if they have any Milwaukee’s Best. He repeats to me with a somewhat confused look in heavily accented English something that doesn’t quite sound like Milwaukee’s Best. I repeat it a few times, but he still doesn’t understand what I’m saying. By now the younger man is finished taking care of the other customer and he looks over at him for help. He, the younger man, leads me down the row of refrigerator doors scanning for it. “I don’t think we have that, maybe you can try the Sav-On or The Market,” he says, “I think only the bigger stores still carry that.”

It didn’t make sense to me to look for it at a drug store, so I made my way to the Ranch Market, the supermarket where everyone speaks Spanish. There’s a corner right by the entrance dedicated to beer. Pushing through the turnstile, I round the corner and head into the stacks of Mexican beer. I make my way through the cases of beer scanning for boxes labeled in English. There were a few domestics, but none of Milwaukee’s Best. Disappointed, I resigned myself to returning home and trying again in the morning before the potluck.

About a block before my apartment I catch a partially lit sign “quor Be r.” One last stop, maybe this’ll be the place. The store is really small with piles of merchandise stacked everywhere. I suppose Perhaps liquor stores don’t need to worry about capacity limits like restaurants do. The register, to the right, is covered with hanging packs of beef jerky, lighters, key chains, and random trinkets. Behind the register are two scowling Indian people. Unfazed, I make my way back to the fridge and scan, again, for any sign of Milwaukee’s Best. In the far back corner of the last door on the bottom shelf partially covered by a sign for the latest deal on Bud Light, I see it. I crouch down closer to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. Sure enough, there it is in the smallest and grungiest of stores. Five minutes and $6.74 later I make it home happy to have, at last, found Milwaukee’s Best.