The car refused to start. It’s 4:30 in the afternoon; 87 degrees with 47% humidity, and my car won’t start. I can see my plans for going to the homebrew store going out the window. Fortunately a payphone is nearby and I have AAA, so I call and am told that someone will be by to jumpstart the car by 5:30.
Well, shit. If I have to wait an hour in this weather, let’s get a beer. Fortunately for me there’s a store nearby, so I go in and buy a Deschutes Hop Henge 22oz, and sit on East Burnside, waiting for the tow truck driver. I’ve found a rare shady respite on the busy street, and hopefully between that and this beer I’ll be cool while I wait. I sit on the curb, and watch the traffic go by; no less than three police cars drive past, and I have an irrational fear of being hassled by them strike me. On one hand it would make for a much better story. On the other; who needs to be given grief by the police on a hot day when the car has broken down?
Hop Henge is quite hoppy of course, but it is cold and tastes good. Sweat is trickling down the side of my nose, starting at the bridge where my sunglasses rest. I feel a bit trashy, but at the same time I feel like; fuck it, I’m making the best of a bad situation, right? It’s hot, I can’t go anywhere or do anything for an hour; let’s have a fucking beer.
