It wasn’t exactly Love at First Sight.
I met Sheryl at my favorite watering hole - the Junction Café. My favorite bartender at the time, a very attractive and personable red head, wanted me to meet her sister. Great, if they are anything alike.
Sheryl was sitting at the bar, looking mean as hell and nursing a draft beer. She was not unattractive, rather plain and solid. I was more used to the naked lady dancer type - tall, large busted. She worked various construction type jobs. I asked if I could buy her a beer. ...
Big Mistake.
“I don’t need any fat fuckin’ redneck biker to buy my beer!”
“Hey I was just being friendly.”
“I don’t like Fat Fuckin’ Redneck Bikers!”
Oh well, things happen. I bought a beer for myself and watched the dancing girls for a while before remembering who Sheryl was. She is the woman who hit a friend of mine – Greg White, the Road Captain for a local motorcycle club - over the head with a barstool because he offered to buy her a beer. Guess I was lucky. Maybe my good looks and charm impressed her? Several days later I was there again shooting pool. She came in and I asked her to shoot a game - but I wasn’t about to buy her a beer. She accepted and bought my beer.
Much better.
We shot and talked, and she impressed me. She actually was Good People. Before I left, I gave her my card, telling her that if she ever needed my help she should get in touch. We saw each other a few more times in there, talked and shot pool.
One cold and rainy night I came home from night classes and she was waiting at my door. She was very cold, very wet, and very drunk - with a couple paper bags full of clothes. “Can I stay a few days?”
The card I had given her worked. When she found herself on the street with nowhere to live she remembered the card, and stuck out her thumb. She asked the driver if he could find the address – and he did.
I got her inside, handed her a beer and we sat at the table. She tried to tell me what had happened but the words just tumbled out and I couldn’t understand much of what she was saying. I handed her a couple of towels and pointed her at the shower. I tossed her wet clothes in the washing machine and waited. When she was done she was in much better condition, and I invited her to stay for a few days. We talked some and had another beer or two before I went to bed. I told her she could sleep on the couch, take the floor in the spare room or sleep with me. She took the couch.
I was always a gentleman.
Shortly after midnight I awoke as she came to my bed. She stayed over 14 years.
In the spring of 1989 a new beer hit the local deli/convenience store. It was genuine Harley Davidson Daytona Heavy Beer. It was the Harley riders’ answer to the light beer craze. Harley Heavy Beer had more carbs, more calories and more alcohol. It had the official Harley Davidson seal and was made by Jos. Huber Brewing Co. of Monroe, Wisconsin.
It was delivered by mistake. The beer was special for the Run to the Sun Motorcycle Rally held each spring at Daytona, Florida. Our neighborhood deli was stuck with a dozen cases of Harley Beer.
I came home that evening with a six pack of Old Milwaukee – it was cheap and all I could afford. Sheryl met me with a big smile. It was all she could do to maintain her cool. She asked what I was doing with “that crap” – pointing at the Old Milwaukee beer. I was a bit shocked and confused, but … Sheryl did have a way about her.
I opened the refrigerator door to put away the six pack. The refrigerator was packed with Harley Heavy Beer. There were about three cases of cold Harley Beer.
I set the Old Milwaukee on the floor and grabbed a can of Harley. I grabbed Sheryl and gave her a kiss. She pulled me around the corner to a storage closet – packed solid with several more cases of Harley Heavy Beer! More cases were stacked in the bedroom.
Love that woman!
The store manager had asked her if she wanted it. He didn’t think it would sell in our neighborhood and gave it to her at cost (very cheap!) on credit. He even delivered it.
Note: Harley Heavy Beer is a very fine, full bodied beer.
