While walking from my office to the parking lot recently a
snowflake landed on my cheek and, like most Southerners, I immediately forgot
how to drive. I came upon the lot
where I saw several things with rubber wheels and realized it would not be
prudent for me to try to operate one of them when snowflakes were falling in
the Gump and Rich Thomas had on his Depend's in preparation for a long night of “severe”
weather. So I did the only rational
thing I knew to do: I walked straight for the Railyard Brewing Company across
from Riverwalk Stadium and ordered a draft beer crafted right here in Rivercity
and pondered “global warming” or as you now hear it described: “climate change.”
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| Mmm, how do you spell "Meister"? |
As I sat at the bar gazing over the stainless steel vats out the window at the occasional snowflake, I listened as head
brewer Kade Miller conversed about beers of the world with a military customer
who had been in Germany. They sampled
several beers and “seasonal brews” with names I cannot recall but sounded like:
Alvin Holmes’ "Uncle Tom Amber” or Scott Beason’s "Dark Aborigine" as I devoured my
favorite RBC lunch item: the fried chicken club sandwich (which they may not still
serve based upon the latest menu). I
felt a warm toasty glow as the yard bird and beer worked their magic in my
gullet. All seemed well. I was safe and warm. I bathed in the smell of hot specialty burgers.
But there upon on one of the flat screens above the bar
stood a smiling Weather Channel “meteorologist,” wearing their North Face
jacket with that unnecessary microphone firmly in hand excitedly pointing out the number of drivers sliding on the
ice in Atlanta with cutaway shots of tires spinning and underdressed chubby people
trying to push those big things with rubber wheels. The closed captioning
streaming below read something like: “The Polar Vortex is the result of global
warming….”
I ordered a “Flat Tire” or "Fat Tire" and pondered the years of over
exaggerated and breathless dire warnings I had heard from television meteorologists
coupled with their recent inability to be able to accurately predict the
arrival of one winter storm in Birmingham Alabama and the havoc that
ensued. “OK,” I said to myself, “Let’s
say I buy the whole idea that we can change the climate.” I then interrupted the brewmaster and
customer and said: “Gentlemen, if we control the climate shouldn’t we take a
vote on whether we want it to be warmer or colder. I mean, who gets to screw with the thermostat?” They looked at me and smiled so I finished my
thought. “By golly, if I get to vote on
what we do to the climate, I vote WARMER.” By then, the group around the bar had become
aware of my pronouncements and smiled. “Hell Yeah!” said one guy with an
Alabama logo on his hat. But another guy
said, “But hey, what about the sea level?” That was a question I was ready for. “Man, didn’t you see they just found an ancient Cypress forest in the Gulf of Mexico in about 60 feet of water? Looks like the sea level is always
changing. Even if I lived on the coast I would hope in 200 years I
could adapt to a rise of a foot or two.”
Somebody bought me another beer, a “Butt Face Amber Ale”, the irony of which I appreciated as I turned my gaze up to Channel 12’s Rich Thomas telling me to stay off the roads. That is good advice for Southern drivers 100% of the time. By this time, after a great sandwich and some fine beer, I realized that Rich was finally right. Even a blind meteorologist finds a bad storm every now and then.
Somebody bought me another beer, a “Butt Face Amber Ale”, the irony of which I appreciated as I turned my gaze up to Channel 12’s Rich Thomas telling me to stay off the roads. That is good advice for Southern drivers 100% of the time. By this time, after a great sandwich and some fine beer, I realized that Rich was finally right. Even a blind meteorologist finds a bad storm every now and then.
