Hometown Beer

With Mallory voiceless for the rest of the week, I ended up performing again. I enjoy performing, but I also enjoy resting my voice. Two weeks in and my voice is already exhausted. Of all the things about this job, it's the wear and tear on my voice that is the hardest.

On Friday night I headed down to the Border Bar with my book of crosswords to try and unwind. With the selection of beverages ranging from Schmidt's to Bud Lite to Keystone, the bar wasn't exactly an cornucopia of choices. But they did have Oly. So with a couple of cans of Olympia I worked through about three crosswords before getting into a conversation with a parent. He was the owner of the bar and was a bit upset because his child wasn't in the show, not because we cut him, but because his child was sick the day of the auditions. His son had approached me the following day and asked if he could still be in the show, but at that point there really wasn't much we could do. So this wasn't particularly the conversation I wanted to be having after a long day. I was glad to find out that he wasn't so much upset with me or MCT, but with the school. I expressed my regret and told him that we hoped his son would still come out and see the show, but he said that wasn't likely. An unfortunate situation.

I finished up my beers and noticed the small print along the side of the cans: Pabst Brewing Company, Milwaukee, WI. It's a sad fact that the beer born in my hometown, the beer my grandfather worked for years to produce, is not made within a thousand miles of Olympia. I've never had Olympia beer that was made in Olympia. What a tragedy.

Two days later, I woke not to a brewery steam whistle, but the mooing of cows. I did the dishes, packed, walked next door to the Lutheran church, and instantly became the odd man out when I actually sang the hymns at a volume louder than a mumble.