I’ve always professed not to be a beer drinker, but I jumped on the opportunity to join a social group of 30- and 40-somethings for a nearby small brewery tour. I made sure that I arrived on the early side of noon since one of the social group organizers advertised that he’d have a canopy. I figured if I got there early enough, I’d be one of the 20 lucky people to get under the shade.
We wanted to get a good spot in the blocked off concrete area, just in front of the musical stage and close to the food and beer. Plus, our group was the first in line to get our $10 beer glass that would be filled three times. As two volunteers set up the glasses, another volunteer came through the line with a wristband, which I initially thought was merely show that people were drinking age. I noticed that they had a slightly smaller, more attractive-looking beer glass. I patiently waited for them to finish putting out all the glasses to cover the table’s surface. Then I cheerfully told the woman, “I want the pretty glass.”
We had about 20 minutes to wait until they actually started serving beer; so I returned to the canopy since I figured why stand in the sun when I can sit in the shade? Besides, I thought this would be a terrific opportunity to get to know some of the other early birds in the social group before the same space transformed into a scene that the Sumerian goddes of brewing, Ninkasi, would be proud of. As I sat, I was surprised that no one else had joined me. I watched them and wondered what the hold up was. The line didn’t move at all. After 5 minutes two guys from the social group joined me. They informed me that the volunteers working the glass/wristband line decided not to sell anymore glasses until 12:45 when the beer was ready to serve.
I then spied a few people who already had their beer. The guys informed me that VIPs could get their first beer without having to wait in line. I joked that I always felt like a VIP. They encouraged me to try, saying that I probably wouldn’t get turned down. I thought to myself these guys could probably get away with some “white skin privilege,” but I told them, “You two are white guys. You could a VIP beer if you wanted.” Granted, that wasn’t much better than what I’d thought. They laughed that off and said that as an attractive woman, I’d be more likely to get a VIP beer. I took the challenge.
I walked inside the brewery, glanced at the 6 beer choices and confidently asked, “Which one of these beers is the fruitiest?” That questioned seemed to throw them off, but after some reflection, one guy pointed out two choices. I asked to sample one of them. As the guy put a sip’s worth in my glass, he asked if I was in the band. I was flattered and joked that I looked as if I should be in band. I tasted the beer, thought it was passable and told him he could fill my glass. He reminded me that I still hadn’t told him who I was.
I smiled and introduced myself. “I’m Teresa with the Austin Writers Roulette.” I whipped out two flyers and handed one to each of the guys behind the bar. “We’re a monthly spoken word and poetry event. Our next show is Sunday, July 14th and the theme is ‘Personal Triumph.'” When he asked if we’d set up a table, I said, “We’ve got a canopy set up.” He concluded that was good enough and filled up my glass. Reminded me of the advice my sister Carla told me years ago, “Just act like you know what you’re doing.” Exactly.
Not only were the two guys who were sitting with me impressed, but one of the co-organizers who was still standing in the glass line pointed me out. Apparently he was already amazed that I was one of the few who had been sold a glass to begin with.
Once the beerfest officially began, that co-organizer let me sample the stout he was drinking, which had been the second beer recommended to me. I liked it better; so I told him to let me know when he was finished with his first and I’d go with him to get another. He finished it in two gulps, saying that I’d twisted his arm and we walked over to the nearest beer tent.
As we walked up, I saw a large rectangular tray under the water container, but then spied a similar one behind the beer serving table. I knew they didn’t want just anyone walking behind there. I announced my arrival by asking, “Can I dump the rest of this in one of those containers?” They all said yes, but one guy, a tall black man with dreads, shook my hand for being one of the few people to ask instead of dumping beer in the first container, which held water for the dogs.
I filled my glass with water, figuring that it couldn’t be a bad idea rehydrate in between beers while hanging out in 95-degree weather. I joined the co-organizer in line, telling him how friendly the black volunteer had been. The co-organizer laughed and informed me that he’d seen that guy checking me out and shook my hand just to flirt with me. He said he knew I had something special when I got that VIP beer.
Instead of joining the others back at the canopy, we walked into the brewery to take a tour. The brewery itself was one big room with some large, impressive machinery. I was delighted to hear the inebriated guy giving the tour with his own beer in tow, explain the biochemistry behind making alcohol. One big machine was to convert the starch into sugars. At some point, additional oxygen was pumped in for the yeast to multiply, but at a later point, they were denied oxygen so they would make alcohol. When I teach my students about anaerobic respiration, I joke that if we were yeast, we could get drunk by periodically holding our breath. The other big machine was to boil it and add additional flavors.The longer the boiling, the darker and sweeter the beer, which explained why I liked the stout.
At the end of the tour, I recognized a woman who worked with my school district. I had been initially surprised that out of all those people that I hadn’t bumped into anyone I knew. I’d just had a couple of false sightings. Although she wore huge dark shades, there was no mistaking her wonderful smile. I spoke with her and her husband for a bit before foraging for food. Didn’t take me too long since there were only two food trailers–one for sweets and the other for savory. Since I was reading at a poetry potluck later on, I knew that I’d get several choices for sweets and opted for a delicious meatball and cheese sandwich.
I returned to the canopy and sat down to enjoy my food. Since I wanted some down time before heading out to the poetry/spoken word venue, I told one of the co-organizers that I was taking off and poured my remaining beer into his glass. He glanced at my wristband. His eyes popped out when he saw that it had only one mark on it. He knew that I’d had two beers and since only one volunteer had bothered to mark my wristband, I was leaving with two more beers officially left on it.
To placate him, I stood in line to get another beer for him. When I returned, I emptied my glass into his and dramatically extended my arm to show him the wristband. It hadn’t been marked. He was beside himself. I gently removed my wristband and wrapped it around his wrist since his band had only one beer left. At that moment, one of the guys who’d challenged me to seek a VIP beer told me that I should have given my band to him. By some beer logic, he said that he’d earned it.
Both guys invited me to join another social group that was geared toward professionals in their 30s and 40s. Their next event was to meet at my favorite sushi place for their wonderfully delicious happy hour. I said I’d definitely check it out since I loved eating there and had been craving sushi. They said some final flirtatious parting words and not once did they comment about my menstrating ear!
A few days earlier on July 4th, I plunged into the 6 ft end of a swimming pool and could not equalize the pressure in my right ear. I completed my laps, but once I returned home, the pressure built up to rupture the eardrum,causing excruciating pain. As stubborn as I am, I mixed a medicinal amount of ibruprofen and red wine, took an hourlong nap, cleaned myself up and attended my tango class, a BBQ party and even walked over to view the fireworks.
Looking back, I’m glad that I didn’t allow one nonfatal health challenge stop me from enjoying this holiday weekend, celebrating the birthday of the United States.