"So if you want my beer, you need to keep me happy."

Whenever I read Kevin Patterson's essays, I'm transported through the beer time warp, back to the period 1992-2002. I was much younger, a tad more temperamental, and ensconced behind the Public House bar almost every day. The amazing aspect of my subsequent reputation as one unable to suffer fools is how often I actually did. Some days, when the fastball isn't crackling and the curveball isn't breaking, you get by on guile ... and then overcompensate afterwards by suckling at the taps and consuming profits.

I say this in jest, Kevin, but are you sure you're not somehow plagiarizing my subconscious coping mechanisms from the grunge era? I resemble so many of these remarks.

Screwed Up Beer Week (vol 12) - Don't Be "That Guy"! Here's How...

... Get the hell out of my bubble!: When folks drink, there seems to be the need for them to crawl up in my shirt in order to talk with me. Don't be that guy! I don't need your halitosis and stout breath sticking to my hair to have a good chat. Especially if I'm behind the bar. That's my space- not yours. You cross that imaginary line where the business side of the bar starts and the friendly side ends and I have full permission to put your ass to work! We're probably not as close as you think. Simply put, don't chase me around the bar.