It's Mostly About the Beer

You know those winsome, leggy, skimpily clad, impersonally flirtatious girls that beer companies hire to walk around restaurants handing out free samples?

They don't put up with any shit.

My face-painting gig at Eeyore's was amazingly successful. I only made one little kid cry; and to be perfectly fair, she seemed as if she were about to cry before she sat down, and the whole time she was having her face painted, too. So I don't think it was really my fault, though I felt awful. Fortunately, everyone else seemed really happy with their paint job.

The best was a redheaded kid who knew exactly what he wanted - a red dragon and a black dragon, one on each cheek, facing one another, breathing great gouts of flame that united at the bridge of his nose and flowed up onto his forehead. I probably spent about a quarter of my two-hour shift on that one kid, and it turned out absolutely awesome, so I hope he doesn't wash his face for at least a week. One onlooker told me she wanted me to remember that design when she came back later in the afternoon. At another point, someone actually referred to me as an artist. It's wonderful what high-quality, independent, locally-brewed beer goggles can do.

We hung out for a few hours afterwards, listening to the bands and the drum circle, and just watching some of the freakiest, most beautiful, happiest people and dogs in the freakiest, most beautiful, happiest city on Earth pass by on the trail. It was a perfect day.

Later, Kevin, Robbie and I ended up at Hill's Cafe on South Congress, a fine example of retro-trendified nouveau-vieux, for a little après-Eeyore's gnosh, and met someone really passionate about her job.

Two girls were making the rounds of the place, pouring cups of Miller Chill (rhymes with "swill"), which I didn't try, but which Robbie and Kevin didn't care for, seeing as how we'd spent the day sampling a lot of really good beers. Fair enough, but unfortunately, a few minutes after pouring the samples, the girls stopped by again to ask if we liked it.

We all smiled and nodded politely. "Not really," said Robbie.

The girls laughed, but one didn't want to let that go by. "What didn't you like about it?" she asked.

"Well, it tastes like Miller," Kevin pointed out, reasonably enough I thought.

"Well, it's a whole different recipe," the girl said, still laughing, but with an edge to her voice. "I've never heard that one before."

"Well, now you have," Robbie responded.

The next logical step was for her to break a Miller Chill bottle on the edge of the table and go for his throat, but fortunately, they gave up and moved on, which is good, because by then I had a monster headache from all the sun, all the squinting at small children's faces, all the beer, and most of all the live country band playing at Hill's, which probably was not, in clear violation of the principle of truth-in-advertising, called "Quaver McWobbly and His Amazing Vibrato Squad."

Headache aside, it was a great time all around. I'm looking forward to volunteering again next year, and here's a tip for you if you ever sign up to do face-painting: Don't set your drink down on the table right next to your paintbrush water. You might as well just drink Miller Swill and be done with it.