Bottom of the Barrel Reflections

I was stationed at the check-in table checking off members while repeatedly downing samples of this month’s beer: Michelob’s Pale Ale, Late Harvest Autumn Ale, Red Hook, and Dunkel Weisse. After the Limey’s regulars saw the first handful of Beer Clubbers snagging free brews, people were lined up at my table, wanting to join in. Although they tried, the strays could not trick me into thinking they were beer-club regulars.  When the newbies got to the head of the line they just kind of stared at me with an expression that said, “Hey, I’ve uh, never done this sort of thing before, and well, I’m not sure how to even say this, or how much this will cost, but…” I always let them be confused for a few moments, once even asking for a password, before pointing them to the clipboard where all they had to do was write their e-mail in order to become an official beer club member (a process that is surprisingly similar to the credentials required to teach writing at a University).

A few of my fellow teachers in training arrived to discuss our collective identity crisis.  Several ideas for appearing more authoritarian and knowledgeable emerged.  One could wear a single glove or come dressed in a nun’s habit.  We could wear whistles and bright orange floatation devices, then run in with the Baywatch theme song blaring. I liked the idea of wearing a utility belt with handcuffs, mace, and a retractable baton, but I was afraid the weight would cause my pants to drop. There was also the issue of how our students would address us (Mr., Mrs., Dr., Professor, M.C. Apostrophe). After my fourth full beer bottle sample, and after enough people approached the sign-in table pretending to be Beer Club members, I became certain that I couldn’t pretend to be something I wasn’t. The best thing to do was embrace the identity I had forged with CL. So what if I was arrested for wearing a Bandelier to school and taxidermied squirrel in my pants. I could still teach an online course or at least blog about it from jail.

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