All illustrations by Jessica Randklev.

All illustrations by Jessica Randklev.

Dear Old Man Winslow: No, I didn’t buy a Prius or anything. It has to do with my drinking habits.

We saw some of the most gorgeous weather of the year last week, and before I boarded a ferry home one evening I decided to pick up a beverage or two for the ride back to Bremerton. Well, my usual bodega was closed, so I hoofed it up to some swanky West Edge deli that I cannot even remember the name of. They had no 22-oz bottles — my preferred vessel for on-board sipping — and their selection was unimpressive at best. Without realizing what I was doing, I found myself at the register with a six pack of Stella Artois. You know, the “Perfection Has Its Price” brand of Hams. It was delicious.
I sipped it as the sun went down over the Olympics. It tasted spectacular until I caught sight of the Bainbridge boat, and I realized what a Bainbridge move it was to spend $11 on a six pack, to drink piss-quality beer because of branding, and to wrap my cargo in a white paper bag. Yes, Winslow, the bag wasn’t even brown, it was Sparkle vanilla white. As I think back on the transaction I realize that it was I who reached for the small white bag, even when the cashier offered me a brown — albeit much larger — bag for concealment. I have a problem, Winslow. I even brought it up with Jarred, my Uptown analyst, who told me:

“That was a monster Bainbridge move. Luckily there are no laws in place that would force you to over compensate by sipping Milwaukee’s Best out of a can with your pinky finger sticking out while walking around downtown Winslow.”

In my defense, I did get the the ferry a few minutes early and ordered a pint of Pabst at the Commuter Comforts bar. But, I believe Jarred’s right. I need to atone for my sins. For even as I write this, I realize that I’ve once again locked lips with Stella. At least I’ve kicked the bag.

The Bremelogger

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