Salts
by Writer Mick
Copyright© 2020 by Writer Mick
Humor Story: A new town, a new hang out, an old problem
Tags: Humor
I had just moved into a new neighborhood in Boise, ID, after my company had transferred me from Charleston, SC. This was my first free weekend, so I went walking around Downtown looking for a good neighborhood type bar. A few blocks from my home I found a little corner bar. I walked in and took a seat at the bar, down at the end, away from the locals and ordered a beer.
“What beer would you like?”
“Well, I prefer a beer I can’t see through and I would prefer a beer that doesn’t have that burnt grain flavor to it.”
“I, sir, have just the thing. Irish Death!”
“Irish Death?” There was a lot of doubt in the tone of my voice.
“Ah, you’re new here. My name is Wes and you are going to love this ale.”
And with that Wes, the bartender, turned and pulled out a frosted pint glass and began to pull the tap handle. This place had hand pumps for some of their beers. That was very cool.
“Hand pump taps?” I asked.
“A beer engine, if you please. Only for the very special beers. And Irish Death is one of those. You are going to love this ale,” he repeated.
After my first sip, I was hooked and so I settled back and began to get a really nice vibe from the locals and the bartender. I allowed myself to be drawn into the main conversation that was going on and soon the locals and I were laughing and having a great time.
Suddenly, I got this queasy feeling in my stomach and I knew instantly what it was. In mid-conversation I stood and without a word, I took off for the front door. Wes immediately took notice.
“Hey! Are you OK? Did we say something wrong?”
“What? Oh. No. I ... um ... have to go home and use the bathroom.”
“Why can’t you use ours?”
“Well ... I have this condition ... it requires me to take special salts when I go to the bathroom.”
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