I have nothing. Well I have other things, but I currently don’t have the ability to create any original content. This is strange to me, mostly because I spent/wasted four years in undergrad majoring in English. As you could imagine, a fair amount of creative writing is required to complete a BA in English, yet, like George R.R. Martin, I still have no pages. Connie has been extremely patient with me, but not even she can remain optimistic forever. So, since I’m bankrupt when it comes to original topics, I’ve decided to recount a story from the past that is loosely tied to working in the craft industry. Of course there has to be a theme, any respectable blog has one correct? Well maybe not, but I’ve chosen embarrassment. The best thing about embarrassment is that there are few things more amusing to other people (see the definition of schadenfreude, now you truly get me). The following story has been heard by most people around the brewery, because that’s how I deal with uncomfortable feelings, I talk about them. So let’s go back to 2013 (remember I was a 33 year old adultish person)…
Through a strange set of circumstances, I agreed to embark on a 14 day juice cleanse at the urging of my wife. To this day I’m not entirely sure if she was more enamored with the thought of a healthier me, or all the pain and discomfort sure to come if I signed on. Regardless, I started consuming nothing but fruit and its juices. The first week was tough, but I was pretty sure I could make it. A week in and pretty much every decision I made first had to pass the bathroom test (i.e. am I within a brisk thirty second walk of a bathroom). If the answer was no, then whatever was needed wasn’t happening. Fast forward to day ten and my constant planning had to that point paid dividends. That night, I had to pick up some 1/6 barrel kegs to bring to the brewery because we were desperately short on shell inventory. Jake, our assistant head brewer was nice enough to meet me when I got there to help unload. Things were going great until I had just passed one of the North Bend exits, and I felt the now all too familiar opening gurgle. I immediately starting practicing controlled breathing, while at the same time filling my head with thoughts of cement hardening and enterprising beavers putting the last stick on the dam. I exited at the next opportunity and floored it toward the nearest gas station. A powerful movement blew apart my mental defenses, at which point I correctly surmised that I wouldn’t be able to make it to a toilet in time. No worries, I’ll just go down this dark road, pull over and use my human paint sprayer to add a nice brown accent to the nearby foliage. As I pulled off and went to grab the roll of toilet paper that had been recently added to my life’s utility belt, a powerful tremor erupted and I audibly grunted. I thought, “Fuck toilet paper, I can waddle back and clean myself properly after the grand expulsion.” I opened the door, lifted my leg up and out, and realized with horror that this was the wrong idea. Not sure what the right idea would have been, but moving in a way to increase the diameter of my anus definitely wasn’t it. I jumped out of the car as the muddy river surged.
Thinking back I’d estimate at least two pounds of human milkshake slid down my pant legs and started to splat on the concrete. After dealing with the inevitable hit to my self esteem balloon, I got naked and started to clean myself as best I could. A whole roll of toilet paper, a small packet of wet wipes, a clean pair of sweats and some spare flip flops made me presentable to anyone without a functioning nose. The next step was to call my wife, scream at her about being done with the cleanse, tell her I hated her, and hang up. About an hour later I pulled up to the brewery and met Jake. As we were pulling kegs out he asked about the crumpled up jeans in the back of the truck. Now I’m not proud of what I did next, but I’m human and inherently weak if you listen to a few of the major religions. Instead of telling the truth, which is always the best option kids, I said, “don’t touch that, I slipped and fell into the biggest pile of dog shit I’ve ever seen.” He quickly recoiled and the rest of the unloading went smoothly (upon hearing the real story a month later, Jake said, “I knew it wasn’t dog shit, no dog can poop that much.”).
Moral of the story: I’ve been drinking craft beer almost daily since that fateful night, and have yet to shit my pants with the same amount of violence (most instances have been more of the oops, I shouldn’t have farted variety). So remember, always drink craft beer, because it’s good and might help you not crap yourself.
Kevin Lane Strickland
That was disgusting and really had nothing to do with craft beer but since you just associated projectile dia-however you spell it(I can’t spell it cause I don’t like to talk about it) with craft beer you run the risk of permenantly grossing out a potential customer. I have to tell you that I too have a long history of creative writing. (No BA but so what right?) You may have better mechanics and less of a chance of creating passive voice or a run on sentence or something else more insidious, I too can identify with ink that won’t flow, ideas that won’t grow, and advancing age. However, I would advise you not to publicize whatever comes out when the dam finally does break. Obviously, I mean that literally and figuratively. It just comes out sounding crappy. Maybe use it to catapult you onto something a little better put together. Other than your job posting that a friend, who thinks I would be great at it, just sent me -the post that led to this godawful mess- I’m not sure if I want to read any others. However, I do want to drink some of your beer and see if you think I’m a fit for the sales job. With regard to your subject matter, I mean no insult. If it makes you feel better you can proofread and respond but I’d rather you just offer me an interview.
Yer an ISTP, Harry | Pacific Northwest Indie Made Beer - Iron Horse Brewery
[…] A year or so ago, our Connie embarked on a project to determine the personality of the brewery as a whole and of the drinkers of our beer, using both the DISC and Myers-Briggs inventories (for reference on the MBTI, I am an ENFJ). Through her research, we found that the brewery’s voice is basically Ross and Greg‘s DISC profiles (imagine that!), while our core customers fit one of 3 genres: The Hipster (personified as an ENFP or ENTP), the Blue Collar Attitude (ISTJ or ISFJ), and the Nerd (INTP or INTJ). The labels themselves are geared towards what actually motivates the customer, based on her research. The Hipster is motivated by innovation, social interactions, and nostalgia. The Blue Collar Attitude folks may not always be found behind a desk at work, but they as a group are motivated by achievement from hard work, a balance of social and family life, and finding comfort in the day to day activities. The Nerd is motivated by learning, active problem solving, and developing strong interpersonal relationships. This has helped us greatly in our marketing and sales decisions, though we still are going to ignore many conventions and rules people may have (see here). […]