Hi Jim,
Love your beer! That said, I had a problem yesterday with a Summer Ale and thought it best to bring it to the attention of the big guy himself. (Don’t start looking around the room…I mean you!)
Call me crazy, but I like working weekends. That way I take Tuesday’s and Wednesday’s off during the week and I feel like I’m on vacation while everyone else is working. Sure, I spend all day on Tuesday doing the honey-do stuff and generally running around. Yesterday I took my wife, Carla, to her Orchid club meeting and pretended I was interested. We ran errands together, had some lunch out, and, all-in-all, I was a good hubby who cared about together time and being a couple with a common direction. We got stuff done and had a good time. Great.
Don’t get me wrong, I do like all of that. It’s just that if I were to be perfectly honest, which could be dangerous, it is the second day of my “weekend” during the week that I really look forward to. That’s when I have earned my time to have my own fun. Sure I work hard all week, go to the gym, cook, clean, pay bills, run my daughter, who doesn’t drive, all over creation…but my own time is Wednesday…day two of my “weekend”. That’s when I can justify to myself and Carla that I have earned some “me” time. I cleaned the pool but it could always use a little extra. That’s where our story really begins.
Years ago I brewed my own beer at home. It was good but the time and hassle were just too much. Then you guys came along. Very soon I knew that you should brew beer, and I should concentrate on my own work. You’re good at brewing beer and I’m good at my own job. Frankly, your beer is better than my home brew was, so the decision to buy Sam Adams and let each of us just do what we do best wasn’t very difficult.
So anyway, I had earned my time in the pool. Carla works nights so she was sleeping. Chores were done, bills paid, lawn mowed, I went to the gym in the morning. OK, now I could have a few hours of “me” time. Sam Adams Summer Ale was just the ticket. I put my Styrofoam cooler next to the pool, cubbies at the ready. It was late in the day with the sun shining hot in a cloudless Florida sky. Accompanied by the low drone of the pool filter, I jumped in the water and repeatedly threw the Frisbee for Kira and the ball for Sasha. The fact that I was exercising the dogs was even more justification for a cold, hops laden, reward.
A little slice of heaven. Beautiful June day, chores all done, Carla sleeping, dogs getting their exercise…what me worry? I plan this stuff out. A six pack of Samuel Adams Summer Ale put into my Styrofoam cooler with some ice packs. My I-pod and a speaker to plug into. Towel, cell phone. I was all set for a few hours of fun. And that’s what it was. Cool blue water, hot sun, frequent underwater Manatee swims across the bottom of the pool. Surfacing to the sounds of Alison Krauss and Union Station… Sasha waiting poolside, panting rapidly, ready for me to grab the ball from her mouth and throw it down to the far end of the lawn. Life is good, and that was great. But reality struck hard and fast.
I plan well. Everything is within my control. Right. So as this epiphany unfolded, I came to my last beer. One last cold Samuel Adams Summer Ale. Perfect. That lone beer, right then, was everything. Seven days of working toward various goals, several hours of total, vacuous pleasure, capped by the best-of-the-best. My final Summer Ale. It was like Chevy Chase said: “This is all I need…just this last Sam Adams Summer Ale...
I grabbed the opener from the Styrofoam cooler, and did the deed. That’s when my world turned ugly. The glass ring at the top of the neck of the bottle broke off. Shards of glass fell into the bottle as the beautiful head of that last Summer Ale rose to taunt me. Even though I though about it, I knew that I couldn’t drink it. How would you feel if you had to pour your very last Sam Adams out onto the ground, your last beer, on your last day off work, knowing that this was it for another week? Bummer.
So here is my point. I’ve been grievously injured. Psychologically turned upside down. Physically threatened by shards of glass poised to rupture my innards. I even got a cut on my thumb that bled at least a drop or two. So I’ll ask the question: How about a replacement beer to help me through my pain? I know that the faulty bottle top wasn’t specifically your fault but certainly you don’t want one of your biggest fans to be traumatized for life. I mean, how will I get over it? I guess I could try…with a cold Summer Ale…or two…
That’s it. My sad story. Almost too much to overcome…unless I had a good beer and a Wednesday afternoon…
Thanks for listening, Jim, hope you can help.
Cheers!
Hugh Haller
PS- If you ever get down this way, give me a call. We could hook up for dinner & a cold one… (If I can ever get over yesterday’s trauma).
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