Last Sunday Was a Bad, Bad Day

Sunday started off on a wrong foot.

I tried to nap at 9 am. (Don't judge me.) Just as I was dozing off, someone decided it would be a good time to unload and reload the dishwasher. (My bedroom is next to the kitchen.) So no nap.

Then off to the office to fix a computer problem.

An hour later to fix it again.

At then end of my brew day--an Austin Homebrew extract IPA kit--before cleaning up, I thought I would have a beer. I grab a pint glass and go to the beer fridge, postion the cobra tap at the side of my glass and depress the trigger. Nothin'.  I look down at the CO2 gauge. Nothin'. Smugly, I think "That's why I have a back up tank!"

So I reach for the adjustable wrench. . .

"Where the frak is my adjustable wrench?" (Admittedly, I didn't use the work "frak.") So I hunt for the damn wrench.  I have bought three wrenches for the CO2 tank, and they keep disappearing.  I mean, how hard is it to leave a frakin' wrench on the table next to the frakin' CO2 tank? Apparently it's very difficult.

So I start hunting for it. There is a Snap-On tool chest in the storage room my brother used when he was an auto mechanic. I've been using the top drawers for brewing tools for several years, and on the off chance I put the wrench in there I looked.  I checked the storage building in the yard. Nope and nope. I check the junk drawer in the kitchen.  Nope.

Finally, I checked all the drawers in the tool chest, and finally found a big wrench in the bottom drawer.  "Finally!" I think. So I took off the regulator and put it on the spare tank and opened the valve. HSSSSSSSSSS! Great! I turn it off and recheck the regulator connection, try it again and it leaks.  It felt like the leak was from around the collar, and not from the regulator. Great! The welding shop is closed on Sunday.

So I thought I'd have some pro beer.  The HORROR! I was OUT of pro beer!

"It's come to this," I say out loud. "B-Double E-Double R-U-N."

I swing by Fredericksburg Brewing Company and pick up a 2-liter Romantic growler of The Giant, their imperial stout. Then on to the local megamart for a 12 pack each of Sierra Nevada Torpedo and Ruthless Rye.

Back at home, I put the twelves into the beer cooler, and grab my favorite snifter. I bought at the Stone Brewery in 2011. It's a wonderful glass. If your fingernail rubs it the glass sings! I sit down and start in on The Giant.

In the middle of the second pint, all is now right with the world. God's yellow moon was shining in the cool clear evening. God's little lanterns were twinkling on and off in the heavens.  As the  beer flowed through me, I smiled broadly and enjoyed the evening.

As I was draining the last drops of The Giant into my glass, the ceramic lid slipped out from under my thumb, swung down and knocked a quarter-sized piece of glass into my beer, which cause a corresponding size stream of beer to fall onto the table.

"Darnit!" I said loudly. Followed by several other choice words. Unsure of how much glass was in the beer, I  poured the unsipped last glass of The Giant down the drain. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I slammed the now worthless glass into the trash, and cleaned up the mess on the table.

I went to bed, slipped under the covers and sobbed myself to sleep.