Miller Lite Focus Group

"You drink light beer, right?" whispers a man displaying disco-era levels of gray chest hair and gold chains.

He leans close, inching his red ear to my mouth.

"I love light beer," I whisper.

He smiles. "Great. And you'll have no problem drinking light beer today?"

"Nope."

"Great, great. Take your name tag and follow me."

I get up. It's a sunny Thursday afternoon. I'm in a shiny Midtown skyscraper. And behind the locked door Disco Chest leads me through awaits a panel discussion on beer, my reward for pretending to be everything I'm not.

Faking it for focus groups is old hat, and should elicit little surprise for anyone but the corporations organizing pay-for-chat panels. I mean, please: Marketing departments want participants tailored to their 36-24-36 archetype. So, like a gorgeous model with a crooked nose, you nip and tuck your personality. In the past, I've been a two-pack-a-day smoker; an unemployed painter; a cologne fanatic; and, now, a temp receptionist with a yen for Miller Lite.

For this, I must thank my panel screener.

"You-hint hint-like drinking Miller, right?" asked a harried woman.

"Yes. Miller's great," I said.

"Perfect. You're in. It's a two-hour focus group. The pay is $100."

And that's how I come to sit in a conference room rigged with microphones, cop-friendly two-way mirrors and bottled water. After a decade spent shelling out a brownstone's down payment in drinks, it's nice to sit on the other side of the cash register.

"Hey, my name is Guy, and today we're talking about beer," says our discussion leader. He has a goatee, wire-rimmed glasses and long, curly gray wisps of hair paired with a hairline that has run away to join the circus.

Guy suggests that we introduce ourselves. I meet Kenny, who drives a milk truck. Ryan is 24, a recent college grad. Allan just left the Marines.

I describe myself as a 26-year-old bike-riding receptionist.

To my right, Jonathan is a 28-year-old financial analyst who stocks his fridge with Miller. Lastly, Steven is 24, lives in Astoria and his hobby is "women, if you know what I mean."

We six represent the future of America's alcohol intake.

Guy is curious about our affinity for Miller Lite. Kenny's a fan because "I can drink and drink and not get all bloated." Steven's hooked on the taste, downing, like, a "12-pack a night." I drink it because I'm cheap, I say.

"Now, Josh, what else do you like about Miller Lite? I want to get into your head," says Guy like a low-rent psychologist.

Now, here's my ideal response: "Guy, I buy Miller Lite because it's like a one-legged whore at 4 a.m. It's cheap, it's available and an end result is an end result."

Instead, I answer, "I like its crisp flavor, and how it pairs up with chicken wings."

Guy grins, and my wallet glows.

As the afternoon drags, Guy breaks out poster board listed with potential ad slogans. We judge words like "flavor notes," "palate" and "red-blooded beer." Guy's main thrust: Does Miller Lite make food taste better?

Beer only makes food better at 2 a.m. Then, a forkful of haggis is God's greatest gift, I say. "Sober, no beer makes animal stomach palatable."

Guy ignores my answer. No surprise. Pre-focus groups, corporations already know which direction campaigns will lean. We are not here to alter the paradigm. We are toothless everymen, paid to reaffirm what a powerful few demand, not unlike voting in a presidential election. That's why Guy prefers talking to Kenny, who answers most queries, "That's cool. That's real cool."

With half an hour left, we test our Miller Lite-goes-great-with-food hypothesis with cold wings, soggy fries and tortilla chips. We're also given two cups of cold beer, labeled #6 and #7, and a paper to write down thoughts.

I bite a frosty wing. I sip #6. I eat a chip. I sip #7. "Watery" and "swill" appear in my head. My hand jots down adjectives like "bold" and "nuanced."

One task remains: "Which beer is the Miller Lite, and which beer is Bud Light?" Guy asks.

Four vote for Miller Lite being #6, while two, including myself, select #7.

No. 6 is Miller Lite, Guy says. "I thought you were Miller Lite experts?"