Brewery

I decided to visit Denver's newest brewery today.  I won't mention it by name, but a quick search of "Westword" would reveal my location. My brewery visits are usually solo affairs where I end up communing with my laptop and occasionally creating things of great importance.

This place was crowded, which is to be expected given its new status, and there were children everywhere. The sight of youngsters in a brewery has always been something that bothers me. Breweries are places I go to get away from children and I become upset when my inner zen is ruined.

I do like children, which is important given my career choice as an educator. However, I struggle in environments where there is no structure and children are allowed to run wild. (I considered this thought while a child screamed "Paw Patrol!" while running around my table for the fourth or fifth time.) This is made worse by the lack of authority I have in these environments. I can’t tell the children to sit down or take away their recess. I just have to sit and suffer through the madness. This explains why I consider Chuck E. Cheese to be the world’s scariest business establishment.

Given the uncomfortable crowds and the lack of working WiFi, my original goal of getting a bit of work done at the brewery was no longer feasible. I was filled with a rage that I knew I needed to begin capturing in order to turn it into a proper blog post. I grabbed a notepad and pen from my bag and feverishly began a crude schematic drawing of all the deep snark I was feeling.

A woman at the next table saw my scrawls and arrows and tried to engage me in conversation:

“Whatcha writing?”
“I just had some ideas that I wanted to capture.”
“Looks like the notes of a serial killer.”
“I swear, it’s not.”
“Uh-huh.”

The thought that my note taking had a certain serial killer essence had not crossed my mind until now. However, after our interaction, becoming a serial killer was becoming a very tempting possibility. I decided it wise to keep this thought to myself.

I'll come back to "Brewery I Won't name, But You Can Find On Westword" at some point in the future, once the newness wears off. However, before this happens, I need to flush my mind of the thought of being a serial killer and my mouth of the taste of a brut IPA that proves that "Meh" is, in fact, a flavor.