Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Beer: Harpoon Celtic Ale
Date: March 14th, 2009
Place: Cleary's, South End, Boston, MA
It was supposed to be a shared beer at six. Chris was late because he was talking to a guy from Nevada. Trying to buy an Airstream to drive around the county.
Times like this, scary times that make you refocus, have a tendency to make you want to do things that you haven’t done before. Things you couldn’t have done before. Things that were inhibited by other things. Things like a family. Or a job. I bought Robertson a beer on Saturday night because he had become a statistic.
He’d been laid off.
Not that this was the first layoff that I’ve experience with Robertson. He was laid off in North Carolina as well. And as a friend summed up ‘If they let Robertson go, you know its getting bad out there.’ That was true in North Carolina, as I took off eight months later. And true now, as trillions of bits of wealth are moving to different columns.
Robertson is Creeper to most here in Boston. A nickname that came from his state (Virginia) as well as an isolated event one late evening, prompted by his creative director, that creeped someone out. Chris, Crepeer and Robertson are all interchangeable. Creep works too. Especially on a kickball field.
We’ve done so much with that guy over the past four years that I can hardly believe it. I’ve been boarding with him a bunch. Went to the Chesapeake Bay one July 4th when it was 104 out. He came down to our wedding. He’s such a part of our social interactions that I forget that he hasn’t always been one of my buddies.
Cue flashback music: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10.
And now, with some credit default swaps and some shady dealings, he’s going to be gone. Driving into the sunset, into some uncertain future.
I bought him a beer because on one government report he’s a statistic. But on mine, he’s a brother.
Pouring one out for you Creep.
Image stolen from Chris's Flickr stream.