“It began with the forging of the great keys, 2 for me, the wisest and fairest of all living beings, one for my manager, the greatest beer encyclopaedia, but they were all deceived for another ring was made; in the mountain of Centennial Hops with the cask of whiskey that asshole my big boss forged in secret, a master to key control the others”

On one perfect sunny fateful day, I was given a set of keys to Ales and Lagers; a key so powerful that it ruled all beers, a key to a portal that promises endless drunken possibilities. Sometimes you go invisible. So yeah it was cool as shit and I just have to lose it a couple of weeks after in Malacca and it was not recovered ever again, because I truly believe some fucking Hobbit stole it, realised it’s supreme power and held on to it so firmly. (It was eventually found but that’s story for another day)

Key That Ruled Them Beer All.

After a fuck load of grovelling, coaxing, bribing, mind washing, sneaky dirtbag tricks that I’d prefer never to speak about and blackmailing, JUSTICE PREVAILS! Albeit through a special kind of arrangement (in which I had to work there to learn the beers I’m drinking), and I was yet again awarded the set of key that I born to own. I was so happy, we drank until the sun came out and shop ran out of the awesome bottom shelf beers *wink wink*

To quote Spiderman, “With great power comes great responsibility”. So within the first week of work I organised the inaugural “Ales and Lagers’ Worker Union’s Strike”, we demanded for better whatever, which was paramount. It didn’t matter. The asshole big boss eventually agreed to listen to our demands at 4.75pm, yes because my big boss hustle hard. My manager was *allegedly* on his off day so it was up to my newfound courage and me to negotiate the terms of our welfare. For the first time in my life, I discovered I could be bribed with not three, not two, but ONLY one beer. That asshole big boss gave me a beer I cannot refuse, I can tell you that! Look at the bright side; we managed to set up our worker’s union, a feat which makes climbing Mount Everest like eating chicken.

That Place Where They Beer Hangout.

Ever since I was young, I wanted to be a Police. Damned if I know why, so being a “beer consultant” or that-basterd-that-pours-beer is a pretty kickass upgrade if you ask me. While serving my 30 days tenure in Ales and Lagers, I have made a few profound discoveries. For instance;

(One). I wash glasses. A lot, a lot, a lot of glassses. So many glasses I’m seeing a therapist to help me address my nightmares with glasses. Oh, broke a few of them too. But what my big boss doesn’t know won’t hurt my glasses. I mean me. See!

(Two) Normally if I’m hanging at the shop, I’m lubricated with booze. BUT, when I’m drinking I can’t bloody count. Maybe like a 6 months old kid. Everything seems to get hazy after 2. Hence, with Drunk Dyscalculia Disorder, DDD (it’s a real word) I’m spending many hours with a beer shop enduring the pain of looking at lovelies I can’t drink. If you’re willing to take the risk; either a gargantuan bill or a FREE one, kindly feed me with beers. I really love just about anything!

(Four, I mean Fifteen) Got paid a decent salary at the end of the month but as fate has it, I spent it on 45 bottles of beers. I don’t even know I’ve had those beers. Weird.

Well, overall, I’ve enjoyed my short tenure working there and was glad to make a few acquaintances, both with the people and the beer. However, I do have a pickup truck and the keys to the shop and please contact me if you are interested in pulling a beer heist job in this awesome beer shop in Publika. I could really use a few extra pair of hands to helping with the loading.

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