Last night, I wandered off after work with a few lads from the office for some much-needed camaraderie. Our destination: a small, independently-owned brewery in picturesque Greenville. Each Wednesday night, you see, the brewery offers a brief tour of the facility and a few complimentary suds, complete with postgame cheese plate and whole pecans. The lads and I were spiced, to be sure.
Upon arrival, we were struck by the lovely property upon which the brewery was situated. We made our way up a narrow flight to a brightly lit great room with some real keen artwork and furniture. An open section of wall with a few stools stood at the far end, where all the action appeared to go down. Aces, mates! Yes? A class operation to be sure! Or so we thought. When we introduced ourselves as tour prospects to the somewhat bleary looking receptionist/bartender/cashier manning the desk/tap/register, she was taken aback. Odd, especially given the preponderance of “Every Wednesday – Guided Brewery Tours!” paraphernalia posted at every turn. Were we there on a Tuesday?
Well here’s the lowdown, boys. We were told that the tour guide, also the owner of the brewery, hadn’t come in that day and would be unable to show us around. We were welcome to stay for a few complimentary drafts, and for our trouble, we would be granted a half-price rain check to come back under a better set of circumstances. Slightly deflated, we sipped our little malted apologies and wandered around a bit. We weren’t leaving, apparently; at least it didn’t look that way to the fine folks running the ship. About twenty minutes passed when – lo! A miracle! The EX brewmaster just HAPPENED to be available on short notice and would be GLAD to show us around! Or, we could come back in a week for the discounted tour, as had been discussed. The poor bleary woman was making it pretty obvious that option B would be better for everybody, (wink, wink, nudge nudge), but shit, friends, damned if our tired bones weren’t already there. We huddled up, we broke - the tour was on………
OK, so - the dude was a wreck. He was the EX brewmaster for a number of obvious reasons. These reasons included (but were not limited to) an obvious chronic problem involving the consumption of alcohol, a penchant for general incoherence, and absolutely no ability to explain a single thing about any piece of equipment, any room, or any process. In fact, I started to question the brewmaster thing. No, no, I completely banished it from the Kingdom of Believability. Skeptical Pheewrap was skeptical.
The four of us exchanged glances during a particular ten-minute rant in which Captain Bald and Ludicrous was extolling the virtues of having rich friends, when we decided that it was about time to cut our losses and take the evening elsewhere.
But then, in an instant, the tour, and the night, was salvaged outright...
Join me tomorrow for the series finale.