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| This Bud is for me! |
Yes I sucked some suds in my day. Always domestic blue collar workin' mans beer. None of that she-man micro brew crap (so sue me if you don't like my PC).
The micro crap always gave me a massive headache and no buzz. And I can tell you a simple fact, I do not normally get headaches. Thank God, never could understand when people I knew told me they were getting a migraine.
The micro crap is also at least 30-50% more expensive than your true blue American Bud.
So if you are drawing down 3-500 bucks a week (workin' mans pay), have a family to feed, rent to pay and so on. Are you going to spend $8-10 a six pack or $3-5? Simple math, you are not drinking it for the "taste"!
Every time I hear that I want slap them. If you are a man you are slammin' for the buzz, not the taste. Period.
Your life is shit, you struggle day to day to make ends meet. Why would you worry about the taste of what you "guzzle"?
Most men (afraid to tell the truth) tell you that they drink beer, well let me tell you if you drink beer you are livin' in la la land!
Real men do not drink, they guzzle.
Why you ask? To make the madness go away. Their lives are not a "happy, happy, happy" bunch of stuff. Their lives are a "crappy, crappy, crappy" bowl of shit.
A bowl that they now have to stir with a shovel, forget the spoon...
I am writing this maybe because I was used to slammin' 6-8 workin' man beers at a time. For me, to slam that many micro brews is not going to happen. Well I guess that is the problem, quantity/money...
Recently I got into a Facebook conversation with my nephew about beer, as the day progressed I came back to a very strong memory that I had.
I met a woman who treated me as a person no matter what I looked like. She then introduced me to her family after a road trip to her parents home in a Dodge Colt wagon (yeah Google that one!) thanks mom & dad, really.
Well we made it to her parents house with only one major break down on the way. The alternator bracket took a shit in the middle of a small town in Iowa. Great time in a small in the middle of nowhere town. We got a hotel room in a beautiful old hotel on main street and sleep the night away.
In the morning the person at the desk directed us to a garage that could help us out. The guy on duty was what was once called a mechanic, they could fix anything.
Today they are called technicians or in other words they replace broken parts, they have no idea in how to repair a broken part. I lived through this societal/engineering transformation and it was eye opening (maybe another story here someday).
Anyway the mechanic made us a new alternator bracket out of scrap steel, installed it and off we went. We never had a problem with that part again.
We arrived at her parents house in due time and they made me feel at home immediately.
He was a WWII vet (stationed in the Philippines), had worked at a local radio station and drove a "packer" (bet not many if any of you know what a packer is...). Blue collar worker takin' care of his family. Get a job, earn a paycheck bring it home and drink some PBR's along the way.
Her father asked me (maybe because I was not scared or judgmental of him when he asked) if I wanted to go with him to his "club" for a beer. Sign me up. Off we went to his private club.
The club was a basic as you see in the movies bar. It was owned and run by Chris and Mary ("Mary Christmas" they would say). Great people. As we sat suckin' down PBR's at a rate of 2 bits a draft life took on a new glow...
He introduced me to his friends. They accepted me. He taught me some pool shots, bought me some rounds and we had a wonderful afternoon just being people...
This is the life of the working man. Who just wants some suds to dull the pain of the day. Then off they go on home to be with the family.
The taste of the PBR on tap in his private club can never be topped. Because it was a memory of family, new friends, and beer!
This was the man that I asked if I could marry his daughter, yeah the way it should be done.
Well he approved the deal and 33 years later we are still together.
So what is this story all about, hum, I guess it is really about appearances. What do we see and how do we react/respond, and then judge?
When you are confronted with a homeless person, mentally challenged person or someone with a weird hair-do, (or maybe a micro brew drinker) how do you react?
Do you treat them as a person, shy away, go the other way, avoid contact, or do you just jump in and find out who they are?
Maybe sit down and just have a beer with them.
W
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