At the Iniskillin Winery warehouse the regular taster died, and the director started looking for a new one to hire.
A homeless street person, drunk and with a ragged dirty look, came to apply for the position. The director wondered how to send him away. They gave him a glass to drink.
The old ‘troller tried it and said, “It's a Muscat three years old, grown on a north slope, matured in steel containers. Low grade but acceptable.”
“That's correct,” said the boss.
“Another glass, please.”
“It's a cabernet, eight years old, south-western slope, oak barrels, matured at eight degrees. Requires three more years for finest results.”
“Absolutely correct! A third glass.”
He calmly said, “It's a pinot blanc champagne, high grade and exclusive.”
The director was astonished and winked at his secretary to suggest something. She left the room and came back in with a glass of urine. The homeless street person tried it.
“It's a blonde, 26 years old, three months pregnant, and if I don't get the job, I'll name the father.”
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