Chapter 7

I ran out of carbon dioxide ... CO2 ... No CO2 ... no pressure ... no pressure ... no beer. Disaster!

I could use nitrogen but, I had been out of nitrogen for a week ... I hadn’t brewed my style of Irish Stout ... Guinness. For those who don’t know Guinness doesn’t carbonate ... no co2 ... those fine tiny brown bubbles are a product of nitrogen gas. I called my style Quininess ... because it was best for keeping malaria at bay.

I had no Quininess so I had no need for nitrogen.

I fear the malaria, I must brew it again.

I was brewing Scottish Brown Ale... 7.2% ... and very tasty. It needed co2 for finishing. Good head and steady bubbles.

Montana State plays American Football on Saturdays. I don’t know who they played ... but it was over before 3 o’clock. Then came the invasion ... and I ran out of co2. I called my local Gasses supplier.

“Quick ... I need a delivery of co2.”

“David ... we’re out,” said my friend. “Soonest Monday.”

“Nitrogen?”

“Nope.”

“What ever non toxic gas you have ... bring it. I have 25 slightly drunk MSU Cheerleaders,”

Here the governors daughter spoke up, “And most of the dance squad ... the flute section of the marching band ... and more coming.” It was a little fuzzy but she was still able to speak.

“Who was that?” asked my friend.

“The governors daughter.”

“Shit ... he’ll have my ass and license.” he ruminated... “Ok ... delivery coming right up ... can I stay?”

What? I’m gonna say no? “Sure,” I said.

The governors daughter said, “Hurry ... I can get you laid.”

He didn’t hang up. There was a bang as the phone hit the counter, I heard the door slam, a car-door slam, high revs on the engine and squealing tires on the pavement. I could hear second gear squawk ... but then he was too far from the phone.

His store is out of town ... explosive gasses ... acetylene and other volatiles. He’s between the railroad and the airport ... it’s a good 20 miles. Took him fifteen minutes.

He rolled out a gas cylinder amid cheering cheerleaders.

“Danny, Danny. He’s our man. If he can’t do it nobody can.”

That was shouted several times. Each time louder than before.

Then...

“Gimmie a B!” “B!” “Gimmie an E!” “E!” “Gimmie another E!” “E!” “Gimmie an R!” “R” “Spell it!” “B.E.E.R!” “Spell it again!” “B.E.E.R!” “Say it!” “BEER!” “LOUDER!” “BEER!” “I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” “BEER!” “What are we gonna do with it!” “DRINK IT!” “YEA!”

... they kissed and grabbed ... he was ‘promised’ at least fifteen times before he got to my brewery door. Door? I was worried he’d make it up my drive. Very touchy feelie are those girls on the dance squad.

He brought an assortment of tools I got to carry those.

“You better let me hook this up ... it’s not a standard connect.”

“Have at it ... it’s non toxic and not explosive, right?”

“Yes,” he started to tell me ... but I waved it off.

I know co2 is in a dark green bottle ... or silver. Oxygen is always a lighter green ... nitrogen is black. this bottle was brown. No idea ... didn’t care.

My beer was soon flowing and the party started to rock ... but ... the governors daughter sounded like ‘the chipmunks’.

She squeaked.

Yup ... helium.