The Day I Saved The Shed

There are a few times when I have tried to be a hero. It doesn’t always work out. During my freshman year a history teacher was calling roll. I noted that one of my favorite fellow students (read as: a very good looking woman who didn’t even know my name) was absent. So when her name was called I tried to answer “here”. Turned out she must have been one of his favorites also because he already knew she wasn’t there. Or maybe he was paying attention to the gender of the voice. So he called her name a second time. Now, tell me, at a minimum you would think I would shutup at this point. No, I tried to answer “here” a second time and even raised my hand so he knew where it came from. Well, that was just plain embarassing. And at the next class meeting, the teacher pointed me out as “your boyfriend” to the girl who didn’t know me at all. Well, the hero felt like a zero. Not for the last time.
On Brown Street, close to campus, there was a bar named The Shed. The Shed had pizza and subs. My recollection is that they were pretty good. Despite the partial scholarship that I got for being one of the vice-presidents in Student Government I needed some cash so I started working at The Shed shortly after I turned 21.
My new fellow employees decided I need to learn about alcohol. So they got me drinking alternate shots of 151 rum and peppermint schnapps. Please, dear readers, don’t do that. I spent large portions of that evening in the bathroom.
The Shed was an education for me on many levels. I learned how to make popcorn, how to mix drinks, how to pour a brewski, and how to deal with unruly customers. We sold three beers on tap, No Lead (3.2% beer, Pabst I think), Regular (Budweiser), and Premium (Michelob). I remember a glass of each cost 30, 35 and 40 cents respectively. I’m told that prices are higher these days (but not at The Shed, it has been sold and renamed).
I also like to think that I was a good and responsible employee. So that is why, when I got a phone call saying that there was a crowd (on a Monday?) and they needed me, I ran to The Shed. I ran inside and grabbed an apron without noticing that the place was all but empty. I moved briskly up to the bar to see what was up.
Well, there is naive and then there is just plain dumb. Achieving both with one blow takes skill. There was no crowd, there was no emergency at all. Instead, this was to be my ad hoc bachelor’s party. A small group of us including my fiancee and several Shed employees when bar hopping which included a faux strip dance that I did (not even R-rated).
Big deal? No. But because we were out celebrating during finals week, my summa cum laude fiancee got a “B” in Physical Chemistry. That became my fault, of course, but, you see, she was the one who told me I was needed at The Shed.

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