BEER DRINKING THE HARD WAY WITH A FAIR FATHER

Most times, when it comes to beer drinking, you need a plan.

The easy part is when and where. Then it gets tougher. Which beer to drink has become an identity check.

In a place like Portland Beer City, a beer identity means everything. Beer cred means never getting caught with a commercial light beer. If that happens, you’ll need a good excuse.

Like this one:

Wife: Are you drinking?

Husband: No.

Wife: You’re in the garage with an open beer but you’re not drinking? That makes sense.

Husband: The question of “Are you drinking?” usually involves more than an open beer in a garage. Most of the time the question is asked by a police officer because “are you drinking” is a threat to driving.

It’s the question the designated driver needs to answer since they’d better not be drinking on the job.

Wife: If the question is, “Are you drinking,” what’s the answer?

Husband: Drinking? No. Garage beer? Yes. See, drinking leads to other things, like angry drunkenness, abusive behavior, driving because why not? Drinking has context with bad history. What happens after a garage beer, or five? I’ll probably mow the lawn, blow off the walkways, maybe come in and vacuum.

Wife: Seriously?

Husband: Yes, and if you go get more beer, I can see cleaner windows.

Wife: Really?

Husband: I might even mop.

Wife: Now I’ve heard it all.

Husband: That’s how floor-play works. When are you leaving?

A Beer Drinking Exercise

A Facebook friend flexed up once, saying that they’d followed The Rolling Stones tour the last time they came around. They sounded like classed- up Deadheads. I said I go on tour myself, touring down to the gas station at the bottom of the hill for beer.

They weren’t impressed.

The gas station beer came up yesterday in garage talk. The kid and I turned on an NBA playoff game on the garage TV. All of the ladies were out.

Me: Maybe we should get some beer?

Kid: I’m going to walk the hills.

Me: Sounds good. Let’s go on a mission.

Kid: A mission?

Me: A beer mission.

Kid: Like a beer run?

Me: Right, except we walk. I’ll get my backpack. We’ll head through the woods, take another trail down to Gaarde, then to the gas station.

Kid: Gaarde has that big hill.

Me: So we pull the hill, put a half-rack in the backpack, and walk back on Bull Mountain.

Kid: I’ve never done that.

Me: I gave it a shot once. I got dropped off at the Mormon Church in Lake Oswego and walked back. Bull Mountain Road was a tough finish.

Kid: And you want to do it with a half case of beer in a backpack? How much does it weigh?

Me: Science says a pint’s a pound the world ’round. Add a couple of bombers and we’re talking an extra ten or fifteen pounds.

Kid: You feel good about carrying that? It’s pretty hot out.

Me: Smokey, too. I feel good about sharing the load?

Kid: What?

Me: I carried the pack down, right? Now it’s your turn.

Kid: That sounds fair.

Me: That’s why I’m called the Fair Father.

Kid: I’ve never heard anyone call you the Fair Father.

Me: You could start. Let me help you with your backpack.

Kid: It’s your backpack.

Me: The new Fair Father believes in sharing.

Kid: This is sort of heavy.

Me: Let me know if it gets too heavy. We can stop and hydrate.

Kid: Do you mean stop for some beer drinking?

Me: Fair Father says only if it helps lighten the load. And it’s more fun than a couple of otters.