Saturday, 16 December 2017

Dude, where's my beer? Butt-texting the boss and Sawdust City

As I lay in bed and tried to close my eyes last Saturday night, two thoughts kept entering my head. "What a fantastic, awesome and totally amazing day" was the first thought. The other was, "where the hell is my beer?"

And not just my beer, but everyone's beer.

See, when we got Don checked into the La Quinta hotel in downtown Oshawa, we checked our beer and swag from the day in his room as well. It had to go somewhere and the party wasn't over just yet.

Problem was, Don phantomed soon after we returned to Buster Rhino's and despite two attempts by Candice and I, we couldn't wake him.

So my sleep was, what's the opposite of restful? Unrestful then, though I'm sure excessive amounts of alcohol contributed to me tossing and turning through the night. Anyway, at seven or so in the morning I got up and checked my phone to discover Don had sent me a message just before midnight - and hour or so after our final attempt to wake him.
Stashing the beer. (Yeah, I know. I used this picture
last blog. But it's an awesome pic!)

"There's seven million beers in this room. Someone needs to get this in the morning."

I figured that 'someone' may as well be me, so I called him and invited myself over to collect the beer.

Other than one bag marked Dead Dove Do Not Eat (an Arrested Development reference) that I knew was Paul's, there was no way of knowing whose beer was whose.

Except for mine. I knew what I bought.

It didn't seem like there was enough beer either, but I figured I'd sort it out when I returned home.

So Don and I loaded up our cars with beer and then went back inside to enjoy La Quinta's complimentary breakfast. (For the record, the scrambled eggs and sausage was nothing to write home about but the coffee was good. And that's all that mattered that morning. That and 'free.')

And I said my goodbyes to my old friend and went home to sort out the beer situation.

Josh's beer came home on his shoulders
I remembered Josh had his beer with him (stuffed in his backpack - oh, those millennials!), so I sent messages to Joe, Paul and Candice asking what beers they bought.

Joe was the first to respond and gave me his list, which I assumed meant he didn't have them in his possession. And we all know what happens when we assume, don't we?

(When we walked in the classroom for our very first Journalism 101 class, there it was on the blackboard, courtesy of Jim Smith, our course co-ordinator: "When you assume, you make an 'Ass' out of 'u' and 'me.' And now you have evidence that the text slang for 'you' was in existence way back in 1980. Learn something new every day, huh?)

Anyway, I spent the next three hours or so worrying about where Joe's beer was. Because I sure didn't have it.

Paul responded next, and I invited him over to my subterranean mansion to find his beer. He pretty much took everything that wasn't nailed down mine, so now I'm thinking Candice AND Joe are both missing beer.

Candice's beers were in her truck
to stay colder
(I'm also thinking Gus, our chauffeur, was enjoying stolen Dr. Juice Imperial IPA from 5 Paddles, but I figured it was too early to name names.)

After Paul left I remembered Candice dumping her beer in her truck before we went back to Buster's, so I stopped worrying about her. When she finally woke up in the afternoon (sleepy-head) she said she actually was missing a Dr. Juice and a Maple Paddler.

Josh might have your Dr. Juice, Candice. As far as the 5 Paddles Maple Paddler, can't help you dear.

Everybody seemed to really dig Dr. Juice, by the way, prompting this Twitter exchange between Hago, myself and Don, which I totally stole from Don's latest Brew Ha Ha blog, titled Glenn and Hago are awesome:

Hago: "I would drink it in a bar, not allowed to in a car!
I would drink it in a glass, I would drink it off my wife's ass!This rhyme just got loose, it's time to enjoy my Dr. Juice!"

Me: "I would drink it in a pub and I would drink it in a tub!I would drink it with Hago-I-Am and I would drink it by the kilogram!But I wouldn't drink it with a goose because I want to drink my Dr. Juice!"

Don: "Hago, you better have your wife's consent unless you want to be paying rent!Glenn, for liquids, we use litres, not grams, which makes your rhyme a total sham!

But for now, boys, let's just call a truce because I wanna drink my Dr. Juice!"
And Dr. Juice from 5 Paddles, well that's
a world class, world record holder

Poetic geniuses, we are.

But back to poor Joe. What were we going to do about his beer?

I was prepared to give away half my beer fridge so the poor guy would not go thirsty, except for the single bottle of Polar Vortex White IPA from Manantler. If Joe wanted that he was gonna have to drop by and share it with me.

And then Joe sees the social media chatter on my dilemma and responds:

"Oh no! Yes, I have all of mine. Sorry for any confusion."

Glad that's settled. Now all there is left to do is drink all the beer. You're still welcome to come over Joe.

I have lots.

Naked Tuesday Thursday and butt-texting the boss

Other than a pint or two or six at Buster Rhino's, I don't get out much, but I always circled Tuesdays on my social calendar. Buster's closes at 10 on Tuesdays and the staff at the bar - and a bunch of our friends - head across the street to Stag's Head to close that place down too.

It's called Naked Tuesdays and no, I'm not sure why. Wishful thinking on the guy who named it, I guess. And no, it wasn't me.

Two a.m. closings make it tough to climb up and down ladders at work the next morning but it was my one night out and sacrifices must be made, no?

And there's Karaoke.
I guess when I blog about it, I'm breaking the Karaoke 'code.'
But don't I look good in heels?

I made other sacrifices on Naked Tuesdays as well: Stag's Head served no craft beer. None. So I drank Molson Export.

Anyway, the Naked Tuesdays thing seems to have petered out for lack of interest, so when I popped in to the bar on a Thursday, I joined my friends Adam, Shannon and Craig (the world's worst wingman) for a couple of pints after the comedy show.

Only a couple, I said to myself, as I had brought my car the five blocks south from my apartment. Parked right out front too.

Many pints later I realized several things: the car was staying where it was;  I was going down the street to the General to close another bar down and sing Karaoke; and wise decisions are rarely made in a bar.

So Adam (the ringleader on this little adventure), Craig and myself (Shannon begged off, citing new job commitments) walked the one block south to the General, where pitchers of Stella Artois started magically appearing on our table.

I think this is how butt-texting
works but I'm not certain
I saw some familiar faces, I sang (Boots or Hearts by The Hip, the same song I was belting out, word-for-word, in the limo a week or so later) and I drank premium European macro beer.

And we closed the bar down.

So at 2:30 a.m. I put one foot in front of the other and walked the six blocks home. At 2:41 a.m I butt-texted my boss, waking Nancy up from her slumber. And at 2:45 a.m. (give or take) I stumbled into bed fully clothed, with my phone and its precious alarm two rooms away.

And at 7:18 a.m. I woke up, realizing instantly how badly I had fucked up.

My pal Brandon, who I take to work every morning, had to be picked up by Steph, making the whole crew an hour late to the job site. And I eventually made it to work, a whole two-and-a-half hours late, with just a half-formed apology as an explanation.

And a $30 parking ticket to boot.

I'm pretty sure Nancy still loves me, but I hope her husband Rick doesn't get the wrong idea about the late night butt-texting.

I guess I'll find out at the Christmas Party. I think I'll leave the lampshade at home.

Buster's, Sawdust City and another kick-ass tap takeover

We have had some amazing tap takeovers at Buster Rhino's this year.

In the summer Markham's Rouge River came to town (bringing most of their staff in the process) and they killed it with their beers. In fact, we had to lock up the Passionfruit Sour so the staff wouldn't drink it all.

In September it was Left Field, one of the new stars of Toronto's east end brewing scene. Greenwood, one of the finest New England-style IPAs of the year, and Bang Bang Sour were two of the standouts for me.

A month later it was the legendary Great Lakes Brewery, and with Troy Burtch in the house and Karma Citra, Swamp Juice and Audrey Hopburn on tap, you were guaranteed a great time.

Last month Sawdust City rolled into Oshawa, and this was one tap takeover I was super excited about, because it was the first this year I didn't have to work. I could just show up at the bar, order beer, and drink.

Imagine that.

And that's what I did.

Candice was there with her friend Tim, so I joined them and after a brief glance at the board I started the evening off with a bang, ordering a flight of two 2017 11.05s (Sours) and two of the 2016 version (Brett Tripels), with both (all four?) beers clocking in at more than 11 per cent alcohol.

What can I say? It's a limited run and they were like some close friends: I didn't know if I would ever see them again.

By the time I was ready for my next flight my pal Paul dropped by, so I invited him to our table and made the introductions.

(A couple of weeks later three of us from this table would comprise half of the Group of Seven that would attempt to terrorize Whitby's four breweries in an unforgettable day called Whitby Craft Brewery Invasion 2017. And yes I know my math is a little off but Candice counts extra because, well, Candice.)

My next flight was Buttertart Beer (it seriously tastes like a butter tart - well done), Hygge Coffee Stout, Golden Beach Pale Ale (a long time favourite) and Lone Pine, Sawdust City's flagship IPA.

The conversation was flowing by this time, and it was interesting to watch the servers - my former co-workers - work the busy room. Kudos to the staff, I said to no one in particular, and as Paul and Tim were busy gnawing away at big plates of barbecued meat, it was left to Candice to nod her head in agreement.

My third flight was almost as dangerous as the first. Princess Wears Girl Pants, an interesting hybrid that has been called many things over the years but now is classed as a Belgian Strong Ale, clocked in at nine per cent. Blood of Cthulhu, a 9.5 per cent Imperial Stout, was on the board and I also ordered another 2017 11.05 because it was so good.

Blood of Cthulhu Imperial Stout. It's usually
pronounced 'Cu-thulu' but there's no one school
of thought as it's a freakin' alien language and
you probably need nine tongues to say it right
The fourth taster was called Adaptionn: Idaho 7, a five per cent Kolsch. For balance.

Tim left at this point and the three remaining amigos all opted for a Sawdust City offering from the beer fridge: Strawberry Milkshake IPA.

I'm a big fan of the Milkshake IPA - one of this year's hottest beer trends - and this one hit the spot. Pink and creamy, this is strawberry up front and finishes with strawberry, tropical fruit and a ton of lemony tartness. It works well.

Speaking of work, at least two of us had to do that the next day, so we soon wrapped up our little party. I finished with Ol' Woody, because drinking a five per cent Alt beer after all those nine to 11 per cent behemoths already in my belly would surely sober me up for my five block walk home.


I know one thing. Being a customer and drinking all those great beers at awesome tap takeovers is waaay better than working it.


No comments:

Post a Comment