Butler said he goes through about six straws a half, about 12 a game. He only has one in his mouth at a time. He spits them out when they "start getting a little stringy." He also chews at home. His young daughter, Mia, has started imitating him, walking around the house with a straw in her mouth (but never running, thankfully). He doesn't think it's a dangerous habit, and in fact has only had one cavity in his life. His wife, Andrea, told us that she is somewhat of an enabler; she'll stop off at McDonald's and pick up a handful of straws for her husband. Like, 60 straws. Daily. "And then if he goes on his own he gets some himself," she said. This, friends, is a full-fledged addiction.
I asked Andrea Butler if she minded the habit.
"Only when I find them in our driveway, when he throws them out the window as he's pulling up," she said.
Finally, while talking to Butler, we unveiled our wares: about 10 straws, collected from a variety of local eateries. We had hoped he might sample them. But we underestimated his palate. I quickly felt like a heel, like I had just offered Robert Parker a chilled bottle of Corbett Canyon.
"I did all these before," he said, clearly bored. "This is a McDonald's straw," he continued, seizing the one McDonald's straw in our collection and pocketing it. There were no markings on the wrapper, no colors, nothing to suggest McDonald's. It was remarkable. He's a straw savant.
"I know McDonald's straws," he told us. "Trust me, I've been in this game a long time. This is a McDonald's straw and all these, hold on don't say anything, like a 7-11 big slurpee thing or something."
He began to lose interest in our stash.
"I don't do these," he said. "I don't do 7-11 straws or anything. McDonald's, Burger King, that's it. Not Wendy's. Maybe Subway, because their straw is thick, clear, with a clear wrapping, but that's it, McDonald's, Burger King....Cheesecake Factory's got the black straws, they're kind of thick. That's good quality straws."
