That’s a moment for a serious interior struggle between your sense of right and wrong, your ability to run fast enough to escape with the beer, and your willingness to endure Belgian prison should you not be fast enough!
Shit eating grin is apparently my only other smile mode than “sarcastic smirk”
And the beer was actually split up amongst a couple of folks, so mine made it back in socks. Although the hardest thing that I had to do was leave that crate in my hotel room. I spent an hour trying to figure out how to get the thing to fit in my bags and not crack the bottles.
On that trip I brought home ~32 bottles without a single break.
Now here’s the part to make me cry: that crate of 12 worked out to be about $23.