A Splash of Humor and a Dash of Asshole

Not So Funny, Funny Stories Vol.1

It all started with getting hired to work the line at a small microbrewery. The usual “pub grub” of burgers and sandwiches. Everything came out of a woodfire oven in the middle of the dining room. But that’s not where this horror story takes place. Let’s start off by saying we often indulged in things you probably shouldn’t do while on the clock. The brewer was an older, hippy who ran the whole operation by himself. From brewing to bottling to deliveries without any help. He had a huge order to deliver a ton of kegs about three hundred miles away one weekend so he asked if I wanted to learn how to fill kegs in case someone walked in looking for one while he was away. Seemed pretty easy, hook this hose up, turn this valve, and so on. I felt pretty confident, so off he went. Next thing I know were in the middle of service on Sunday night and a guy walks in wanting a keg of IPA. I tell him no worries and I head to the walk in where the 100 gallon tanks of beer were. I get my sanitizer, get everything nice and clean and hook up my hoses. I’m ready to rock. I reach out and release the valve to begin the fill. Oh shit the entire pressurized front of the tank shoots off and nails me in the stomach. I hit the floor immediately as all 100 gallons come pouring out all over me with a shit ton of pressure. It must have been loud because the dishwasher come running in and tries to stop the pressure with a towel. No such luck as he all of the sudden can yell the word fuck in perfect English over and over. All we can do is save the last ten gallons or so into buckets. In my mind all I can think is oh shit. My entire body is drenched in beer, the floor is trying to drain into a single floor drain but is still 4 inches deep. I pull up my shirt to reveal the sickest bruise of all time, about the size of a basketball dead center on my stomach. I get the dishwasher to start using the squeegie to get the floor drained and I know I have to call the brewer. He picks up wasted, stoned and at home less than a mile away. He could have come down and filled the keg. What ended up happening? I didn’t get fired, brewer laughed his ass off and never told the owners what happened and all of us pounded the few gallons we saved.


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