"One more round"
Nothing made him feel better than when he had time for just one more. He knew it would leave him feeling a little fuzzy and probably lead to more than one nightcap when he got home, but he couldn't help himself.
These post work retreats to the patio at the local chain restaurant were always a little disappointing and the selection of beer was at best a disaster of light and overpriced macro beers with one or two 'blah' craft beers tossed in to appeal to no one in particular. His craft beer pals avoided places like this with a passion and his workmates didn't get all the fuss about something as pedestrian as beer. But for appearances sake and to keep up his position at work, he would join in this near the end of the week ritual and its cheap buckets of Corona that made everyone else so happy.
The menus at these places were a jumble of slogans, symbols and terrible jokes that made him long for a well made burger and a strong IPA. The nachos were heaped but the quality matched the price and always made him consider whether he hated himself enough to wash it down with more quasi beer in an attempt to look like a normal, well adjusted person. Fried appetizers appeared and someone made a comment about corporate that drew gales of laughter from the group. He had missed the joke but knew how to play along and guffawed like a jackass before he pounded yet another watered down version of a beer he would never love.
He longed for a return to the taproom, it was but minutes down the road. He tried once to take everyone there, but they struggled with trying the different styles and complained about the lack of fishbowl sized mixed drinks and overflowing $10 buckets of beer. He lacked the nuance or conviction to educate people and went along with them as they returned to their routine and the banality of mass produced food and beer.
He knew them to be good people, solid parents and in most cases, contributing members of society. He was none of these but he played a part as best he could, only occasionally slipping up and having a few too many. He was a happy drunk, but a sloppy one and these little forays into suburban culture taught him how to cover his latent asshole tendencies and drink with some kind of moderation. But to be honest, a half dozen Corona's didn't do that much, so the shot of whisky he grabbed while saying he had to hit the washroom left a glow on his face belied by the tepid beer in front of him. No glass, just pump a lime into the bottle, turn it round and drink.
For most people, the hour or so spent on this patio represented a break from the duties of home, a stolen moment laughed about as ditching responsibility but never over done and always home before the sun got too low. They had all long ago made the transition to proper adulthood and gone on merrily to that life with open arms. No regrets and a future of 40 hours a week and a couple of vacations at the beach with the kids until it was time to retire. Milestones met along the way marking progress and finally validation of a life well lived. On this point, he envied them, feeling the weight of his increasing age pulling him down and the only milestone he was looking forward to was the pie in the sky dream of travelling to Europe to explore beer in a way he dreamed of.
He came round from his ruminations to see the party was breaking up, dinner time was calling and so too were the multitude of sports everyone's children seemed to play. Coach Mom or Dad jackets were stored in the SUV and as he said his good byes until tomorrow, he waited until the last person climbed into their symbols of success and headed back into the bar, having decided not to ruin great beer by trying to drink it after this day. One more round and he could Uber home and fall into an intermittent slumber with a feeling that maybe tomorrow he'd find a way to make it better, to make it work again.
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