Four Pack of Beer

 

Shane had been floating, like cigarette ash flicked out the window which gets blown back in and somehow meanders behind the passenger seat, the idea, of starting a microbrewery, past his wife Janessa. It seemed like too much work at the time but then covid. The Department of Very Bad Ideas then spent an all nighter on Vèronique Old Vine GSM 2016 and the problem of epidemic-imposed economic downturn. One bureaucrat, eventually widening eyes in drunken epiphany, said to colleagues:

'You know that money we make people save so that we don't have to give them money when they're old? What. If. We let them spend it?'

So with that start-up capital and unemployment, Shane and Janessa took their chance. They were unsure, long-burn nervous trepidation in their mutual loins, whether there were no microbreweries in the northeast because it had not been done before or that it had and failed. The former: Shane and Janessa's microbrewery thrived, small business for the win. Word of mouth grew alongside their income and variety of wares - the staple session ale, pale ale and stout extrapolated into NEIPA Red Rye IPA and a limited-release Double Dry-Hopped IIIPA that they only sold in schooners because that shit is 11%. They also got canning equipment = takeaways.

Things got oh so raspberry gose when Shane previewed what was supposed to be a West Coast IPA. The Tralles hydrometer glowed radioactive green when it tested alcohol levels. Samples were poured direct from still for confidantes - tasting notes were varies but responses always positive. Meaning, this beer became whatever beer the imbiber most needed at that particular point of time. Janessa and Shane debated what this esoteric drink should be called and what it should cost. Shane won that it should just be called 'Beer' on Janessa's condition that it be sold under-the-bar for products of equal-or-greater impossibility.

One quiet afternoon, specifically that of Thursday, the 5th of May, 2022, Liam sauntered into the microbrewery with long gait, arms bent at 90° and ending in small fists.

Shane: 'Hey there. What can I get you?'

Liam: 'I'd like a Four Pack of Beer.'

Shane, with rehearsed double-check code-phrase: 'How are you paying? We don't take cash.'

Cracking smile: 'The Blue Lidded Wheelie Bin.'

Janessa refuses to crack eyebrow: 'The Blue Lidded Wheelie Bin?'

Aha! in Liam's right-left-right eyes: 'Councils give residents three bins, each with different lids. Green for green waste, yellow for recycling, red for everything else which is not remotely burning which, irony, amiright?'

Liam raises hand in air, pivots in search of high-five from third party. The only other patron at bar - Magdalene, halfway through pint of dark ale - does not have three metre arms.

Not phased: 'But a blue lidded bin? Who knows what's supposed to go in it? Who knows where it goes? I don't.'

The married couple exchange glances cum-loaded with meaning.

Janessa decides: 'Yeah, we need a new bin.'

Liam skips out with Four Pack of Beers which will provide fast, heavy intoxication stopping just before the need to vomit. Shane wheels the Blue Lidded Wheelie Bin inside. Catching the door with foot, just before it closes, is Easy carrying a potted 750 mm fern to the bar:

'I would like to buy a Four Pack of Beer.

Janessa suspects answer: 'How are you paying? We don't take cash.'

Easy does cock eyebrow: 'The plant?'

Whilst shitfaced, Ezekiel 'Easy' Bones composes sigils intended to summon one dark lord or another. Frequency of shitfacery eventually brute forces successful magic and three such sigils have been published in fringe grimoires. The Saturday nights on gamay are more productive than the Friday nights on pale ales and the glorified Tamagotchi that is Easy's current character in The Long Dark. Mr. Funbags has survived 266 days so far.

Friday nights are designated steam-blow-offs because Easy nine-to-fives in work starting variably between 5:30 and 10:30 and going for 8 or 10 hours, inclusive of unpaid lunch break. Easy's exact job role is hard to pin down: the day's assignments may change with every hour or with greater frequency should the boss be present. That said, Easy will answer 'gardener' is asked 'so what do you do?' by a cute girl, should that ever eventuate.

Two of Easy's co-workers have recently lost their driver's licences - one due to THC leftover in bloodstream from the night before, the other due to drinking commenced at morning. Another had covid. Lo, Easy was sent solo to a financial call-centre situated between highway and parkland, with lawns mowed fortnightly and fence line overgrowing inoffensively, unobtrusively, until the boss notices. In this perimeter jungle, Easy rip-sawed weeds grown above canopy and stuffed two-thirds of the resulting green matter into his Mazda 3. It was there that Easy found the Helpful Plant. Unsupervised, he moved it into a pot and took it home.

Easy concludes explanation: 'And here's why you might want this plant. A friend found that whenever they vomit into its pot, the plants limbs bend and lift her hair out of regurgitation's way. Makes her feel like a Disney Princess.'

Janessa shrugs: 'This is a bar.'

Shane agrees: 'Yeah, someone'll chuck sooner or later.'

Transaction made. Easy mawks out with Four Pack of Beers which will provide kick enough for conversation dragged along for three hours but be sufficiently low in alcohol for the legal drive home.

Shane manages to empty and reload the dishwasher before the next patron - Giuseppe rocking an old hippie look with long white hair and name spelt out in necklace built from alphabet-blocks.

Giuseppe places both hands on bar: 'I'd like a Four Pack of Beer.'

Magdalene is enjoying the guest-tapped dopplebock: 'How are you paying? They don't take cash.'

Giuseppe: 'Do you know what a Beyblade is?'

Shane: 'Those spinning top toys?'

'Ah, but.' Eight months back, Giuseppe had Allan Quatermained on aussie-wasca around Queensland. he found an ancient temple (stone, circa 1980's) reclaimed by Amazonian jungle and delved inside, found a primordial spirit of wombat trapped within an iron effigy. Giuseppe had asked the spirit 'would you like to live inside a child's toy' and spirit was like 'Hells yeah'. Ergo, this Beyblade is more akin to those of the morning cartoon - episode long battles of attrition between demigods - than the toys that said cartoon grossly exaggerated. If said 23 minute advertisements (30 with adverts) are to be believed, Beyblades such as Giuseppe's may have utility in influencing geopolitics.

Janessa stops him there: 'This is a bar.'

Shane: 'Yeah, sorry mate, not interested.'

'Oh. Ok, can I get a pint of the lager then?'

Shane, habit: 'How are you paying?'

'Cash.'

Wincing apologetic: 'We don't take cash. Eftpos only.'

So Giuseppe leaves without booze. Shame on Giuseppe. But Magdalene picks up the slack, raising hand in air and filling silence before anyone notices it:

'I know your system.'

Janessa begrudges: 'They don't usually come in like, uh, chains like that.'

Shane: 'Also, we're usually busier Thursday afternoons -'

Magdalene completes the slap on bartop commenced 8.28 seconds ago: '- you've got quiz night in an hour. But I am drunk enough to leave now.' Counting fingers. 'I. Would. Like. To. Buy. Aaaaa. Four. Pack of beer.'

Janessa: 'How are you paying? Not cash, yadda yadda.'

Magdalene forgets to cock eyebrow: 'One marital aid potion.'

Janessa, what bitch? : 'Pardon me?'

Oops: 'Two marital aid potions. Three. Not for you, for your customers. I suspect giving some marital aid to a few regulars will help maintain your vibe, your balance of indie and family friendly.'

Mute agreement between the married couple: yeah, let's get rid of her. Magdalene struts out with four beers which will provide four nights of drunken epiphany that stop short of recklessness.