Week 11? Exit 4

Tea. He decided to have tea this morning. He ate his usual breakfast, 2 egg whites and a slice of 12 grain toast. He took the dog for his normal 0.8 mile walk. He had Good Morning America on in the next room. The tea, at least, made this morning a little unusual. He couldn’t bear another morning of Columbian decaf with skim milk and Splenda. He just needed something different this morning.

He dreaded having to drive his wife’s car. He hadn’t thought the idea of his daughter driving to South Carolina on her own was a wise one. She promised she’d take her time, and stop when she was tired. But, Maine to South Carolina, by yourself, was quite a trip for someone who had just gotten her license. He wondered how far she got since last night.

He responded to a work-related email, something about ASSF. He was urging his client to purchase this penny stock but secretly all he was thinking is why they would choose such a symbol. He couldn’t type it without thinking something dirty. He hadn’t noticed how long the shouting had been coming from the living room. The television was loud with screams and crying. He assumed it was footage from a bombing somewhere he didn’t care about. Some third world country like Iraq, Afghanistan, or Scotland.

He wondered if his wife would notice the tea spot on the hard wood floor if he left it there. His curiosity was now peaked and it couldn’t be stopped merely from a small rogue raindrop of tea that had leaped from his coffee mug labeled “Don’t Touch Daddy’s Coffee”.

“..and all we know is this is a type of precipitation we’ve never seen before”, the voice said. This wasn’t a subdued Robin Roberts, this was a frantic faceless voice of concern. And this wasn’t Scotland. This seemed like New York. Was Scotland a third world country? He wondered why he would make that connection as an image of Mel Gibson in a kilt vanished from his mind. “Yes, Sam, it seems dangerous, if not down right deadly”, the man continued. The shot on his screen was clearly from inside the morning show’s studios, capturing what was unfolding outside. There were no fans holding signs. There was not the hustle and bustle of an 8:16am morning in Manhattan. Instead there was black and red on everything. There were people lying in the streets, some crawling, some still. He hadn’t noticed it was raining in New York. It was the furthest thing from his mind until the man said “This isn’t rain. It isn’t snow. We….we don’t know what it is. It’s something different.”

It still seemed far away, New York. He rushed to his window and was greeted by a warm sunny day and his neighbor’s dog shitting on his lawn. He ran upstairs for his cell phone, which was still charging from the night before. The phone rang just as he made it to the top. It was her. “Lynn?” he quickly asked. She was crying. She was hysterical. She couldn’t put together a sentence. All he wanted to know was if she was okay. He asked a third time. She finally answered, “I think so. I’m in my car.” After gaining a little of her senses she continued, “I stopped early last night. I was exhausted. I just started this morning and something happened. It started raining black and my car stalled. It won’t start now and it feels like my tire is flat. I can’t move.” He asked if she called 911. She told him she couldn’t get through. He wondered if that was even possible. “Dad, people are hurt….people from other cars…they got out when their cars stopped and...dad, people are hurt. I don’t know what to do.”

Inside he was frantic but hid it from his only child. He asked where she was. He had to get to her. “I’m on the New Jersey turnpike. I can see an exit sign but it’s covered in black…it’s…it’s 4. I’m at exit 4.” He told her to stay in her car and keep calling the police. “Daddy. My battery is at 10%. What if you need to call me?” He told her he was on his way to get her. He didn’t know how. All he knew is that he already missed the normalcy of Columbian decaf with skim milk and Splenda.

This week’s beer is Exit 4 by New Jersey’s Flying Fish Beer Company. I liked it.

Week 9: Stone Double Bastard 10.5% ABV

Hans Gruber and Col. Stewart. Gannon and Bowser. Hell, even those guys up there. All great examples of bastards. But all of those don't compare to this 10.5% malt and hop bomb from Stone. At the same time, this is the ultimate yin and yang beer, with a delicate balance of hops that wallop your taste buds and a sweet maltiness that cools it down. Your mouth doesn't stay cooler than a witch's tit in December for long, because the alcohol burn sets in pretty quick.
About half way through the bottle, I began to think that the double bastards of Jim Carey and Tommy Lee Jones made for a good evil pair in Batman Forever. And man, if you start thinking that movie was any good, you know the beer is hitting you hard.