This is the city. Montpelier, Vermont. I work here. I carry a badge. It was a beautiful Wednesday morning. It’s the kind of morning that you get used to living in a gorgeous state. It’s the kind of morning that makes people write emails to other people that they don’t even know.

 

            I was working at Three Penny Taproom, getting things ready for the day. I had my decaf coffee, I had eaten my banana and it was time to sit down and write the good people on this list. But something was about to change; this routine was about to be interrupted.

 

[VOICEOVER: The story you are about to read isn’t true. And the names have been changed to protect the innocent.]

 

            I didn’t know who he was but he was intently staring at me through the front door of the Taproom. He was soaking wet and it wasn’t raining. He had pressed his hand to his forehead and then placed them both against the glass pane in order to seemingly see through it better: although, that was just my assumption. He started knocking. At this point I can safely concur that he wishes to enter. I walked to the door and pushed on the bar that lets the door open. I said hello. He said hello back. There was an awkward pause that I’m assuming was coming from the fact that I just stood there staring at him. Then he spoke again:

 

“Can I come in?”

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“Can I come in?”

 

“Can I help you?”

 

“I really just want to come in and see what you guys have on tap.”

 

“We’re closed at the moment.”

 

“I know. I’m early. But this is the only time that I could get here.”

 

“Are you selling something?”

 

“You’re pretty curt aren’t you?”

 

“This is my Dragnet routine.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Give me the facts.”

 

“You had to say that, didn’t you?”

 

“Of course I did.”

 

“Ok. The fact is I don’t want to look at what you guys have on tap.”

 

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

 

“I’m planning on coming in here this weekend with a group of my friends and we’re all really into craft beer. I kind of wanted to get a [uses his fingers as if they’re “rabbit ears”] ‘sneak peak’ at what you guys might have on.”

 

“So you want to know the future.”

 

“Technically…yes.”

 

“What’s the password?”

 

“Swordfish?”

 

“Ok, come on in.”

 

            The man walked past me and stood staring at the boards. I proceeded to check the lineup to see if there was something that might peak his interest. Then, I started talking again:

 

“Looks here that we have Victory Dirt Wolf coming up. It’s a Double IPA from Pennsylvania, which is the same state that the Philadelphia Flyers are from. Go Flyers. We also have Jack’s Abby Cascadian Schwarzbier. If you don’t know what that is then I will tell you: think of it as a really hoppy Schwarzbier, which is a black lager. And, it came from Jack’s Abby and they know a thing or two about lager. On top of that we have a good amount of Lawson’s Finest Sip of Sunshine, a double IPA and we have a healthy dose of Hill Farmstead’s George, which is their American Brown Ale. Both are very tasty. If you’re looking for something a little different we will also be pouring Mystic’s Table Beer pretty soon. It’s a delicious saison.”

 

“Is that it?”

 

“No. But I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.”

 

“Can I have a beer?”

 

“No. It’s too early.”

 

“Too early for who?”

 

“The Government.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“We’ll see you this weekend.”

 

“Are you asking me to leave?”

 

“Not really, but I do have work to do and it would be really nice of you to let me get on with it.”

 

“That’s you asking me to leave.”

 

“For the moment, yes.”

 

“That’s a nice way to ask me to leave which leads me to believe that you’ve dropped the Dragnet routine.”

 

“Get out.”

 

“Nope, still there.”

 

            The man and I then shook hands and he sighed audibly for some reason. As he turned to leave I felt it necessary to tell him to have a good day and that I was looking forward to seeing he and his party that weekend but I resisted the urge. Instead I said:

 

“Excuse me.”

 

            The man turned but kept his left hand on the door.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Go Flyers.”

 

            I then proceeded to chant, “Let’s Go FLY-ERS!” with the additional “DUH DUH DUH DUH DUH” that accompanies the chant. I kept doing this as the man let out another audible sigh and then left. I stopped chanting.

 

            I returned to my computer and wrote this all for you. I’m really not that rude. That’s why this whole thing didn’t happen.

 

 

 

And that’s it for me, cheers,

 

Joe “Three Penny” Friday

 

  

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