“I got a sitter for Saturday,” David announced a few days ago. “And I have a few ideas for our agenda.”

I was ready for anything. Especially if I didn’t have to come up with the anything.

“There’s an art show in Cave Creek.”

Maybe.

“There’s a sale at Cabella’s.”

No.

“The Situation’s going to be at Total Wine & More in Scottsdale.”

Sold.

The infamous “Jersey Shore” cast member—whose 15 minutes of fame seem to have somehow morphed into their 16th minute—was scheduled to sign bottles of Devotion, his protein-infused Vodka at 3:00. As far as I’m concerned, protein-infused vodka seems about as asinine a product as Pajama Jeans, but what do I know?

It’s perplexing how quickly Americans have made GTL the latest and greatest acronym. Which is why I’m unapologetically intrigued by the whole Jersey Shore phenomenon. It’s really nothing more than a sociological fascination. I swear.

So we get to the liquor store, which David is more than thrilled to enter under the premise that he’s being a fantastic husband when, in reality, he’s overflowing with excitement because their beer section alone is bigger than Acme.

The store patrons fell into one of three categories: those who were definitely there to meet The Situation, those who had no idea who The Situation is (or what Jersey Shore is…or what MTV is, for that matter), and those who were there to see the phenomenon in the flesh but would rather die than admit it.

I fell into the last category.

After 45 minutes wandering the aisles, killing time by stocking up on far more beer than we can fit in our refrigerator, the man of the hour arrived.

By this point, 3 distinct crowds had formed: those who had no idea who Mike Sorrentino is (or cared). Most of these people were over the age of 50 and were audibly lamenting the state of today’s youth. Then there were those who knew exactly who The Situation is, cared very, very much, and felt this was the biggest moment in their lives to date. These individuals’ hair was a fire hazard, wore skirts that screamed, “Please don’t bend over while wearing me,” and were too young even to legally be in a liquor store.

And then there were the rest of us.

We were huddled together just to the left of the signing table, all between the ages of 30 and 45, holding up our phones as though they were lighters at a Journey concert—rule breakers hoping to get a photo without having purchased something as asinine as protein-infused vodka—leaving one by one while hiding our faces and announcing to those around us, “You never saw me here.”

A few of these folks even quietly asked David to do their camera work since his height allowed him to get a camera about 9 feet in the air—but first he had to sign their confidentiality agreement noting that he neither saw them there nor held their camera.

I stealthily snuck my 5′ 3″ self up to the front, got the following shot, and then exited with the requisite, “You never saw me here.”

We loaded all 89 bottles of beer into the truck, and continued on to more tasteful and less embarrassing establishments like Anthropologie and Sprouts. At one point outside Teavana, a tea store within 50 feet of which The Situation surely would not be caught dead, David mentioned that what he found most hysterical about the entire event was how many people just like us were there, trying to act uninterested but refusing to leave until they’d laid eyes on the guy, to which I simply replied, “Yeah, and why exactly was he wearing sunglasses? It’s pouring out!”

So that was our date. And now we’ve got some beer to give away.