Awkward, Again.
So, I’m by myself in Sheboygan, Wisconsin at a bar that is waaaaaaaayyy too hip for me (and, quite frankly, I cannot believe there are places in Sheboygan that are too hip for me). Ten minutes ago, I asked the receptionist in the hotel lobby where the “cool kids” grab dinner (I, by the way, did not sound like a “cool kid” when I asked that question). She sent me here. I’m desperately trying to fit in. The only problem is it is awkward. No, actually, I’m awkward. I want to order a beer but based on the tap handles it looks like my options are clown juice, buffalo something, or Budweiser (and I’m not ordering Budweiser). I say, “Can I just have a pale ale?” The bartender asks if I want circus-something or bison-whatever . “Whatever most people like,” I say. He asks if I want a pint or a mug. I say, “Whichever is bigger.” A moment later he approaches with a beer in the biggest mug I have ever seen. As I take my first sip, I look like a toddler...