The Social.

I found a brewpub. I like it a lot. The St. Elias brewpub is a pretty legit establishment, with some seriously good pizza with a nice foldable crust, and really REALLY good beer. The Baltic Porter is legit. I went there with a few guys from work, Chris, an Alaskan native, Bryan, a non-drinking dork from South Carolina, and Tristan, another refugee from the great State of Connecticut. Chris and I drank beers and regaled each other of our debaucherous pasts, while Bryan and Tristan chimed in when they found it necessary. Tristan and I talked about Connecticut, Bryan and I talked about metal. We all talked about work.

We bitched and moaned about how terrible the routes we work are, how lazy the payroll department can be (which is terrifying), and how the scenery around Alaska is so remarkable that it knocks you backwards. So Chris and I drank. You learn a lot about a man when you drink with him. This dude can hang with me. This dude would be okay in New London. We had a few rounds at St. Elias, and then we had a few more at the hotel.

Drinking in a parking lot, no matter where that parking lot is, seems to have a few universal truths. First, you never hold your beer. Keep it on the ground so that the cops can't nab you for open container. Other than that, you better bring your A Game stories. The ones that are fool proof. The ones that make you look like some sort of Dionysus. You tell the stories that make you into the Greek God of Amazing, and then you tell more. You have to hang, man. You have to go beer for beer. I would still be in the lot drinking right now if I weren't called away to write an email to my boss. We need to get quotes from people we talk to now. This is stupid. No one wants to say that much to us that would actually sound good as a quote. I have to dig deep into my media past to spin some of this shit.

There was one woman today, though. A resident at a retirement home (yeah, we have to go there, and it's the best part of my day) was PISSED. Pissed at this entire election. A lot of people are. They are pissed at getting a billion phone calls, people like me knocking at their door, the vitriol between the two candidates. Just flat out pissed. This woman said this to me, I wrote it down because it was sooooooo good: "I'm so mad I could spit! They can both go to Hell and kiss each other!" Oh, Gloria Wisencraven, can we PLEASE hang out all day? Please? I would fake everything else for the rest of the day, record absolutely nothing, and hang out with Madame Gloria drinking Scotch (we all know she has some) if given the opportunity. She was incredible.

What tomorrow brings, I have no idea. I'll get my assignments and knock on doors. I promise you though, there will not be someone that brightens my day like Gloria. Not a chance.

Anyway, I sit here typing away, drinking my beer, knowing that tomorrow night, there is a pretty good chance that I am going out with my coworkers again. I am being social. I have something to look forward to at the end of the day now. A drink with someone I work with. It's not big, but for me, this is the first step in becoming actually comfortable here.

I can leave the lumbering oaf I work with at home though. I seem to get sick of him easily. His seemingly childish reading level. His inability to say words correctly. His lack of knowledge about the pronunciation of our opponents LAST FUCKING NAME. But, BUT, there are only a few more days of this knucklehead. Well, 2 weeks, but in the long run, it's okay. We actually work well together. I look like a genius while he looks like a moron. I like that dynamic.

One road in, One road out. Two weeks until Connecticut.

SD