Charleston Day Two

I woke up to biscuits and sausage gravy. It was going to be a good day. That paired perfectly with the coffee I set to auto-drip yesterday. I trusted drunk-me more than I trusted hungover-me to handle the coffee. Even though drunk-me only had one eye open and couldn't figure out the time difference between Florida and South Carolina. I slept very well despite the ghost closet in our bedroom. I'll be fine as long as we don't do anything that makes me think about ghosts— tonight's a ghost tour. 

We started the day off with physical activity. I'll take the ghosts right about now. In Charleston, it rains on and off every 5 minutes. For instance, when you're bar hopping, it only rains while you're walking from bar to bar. While you're kayaking, it only rains long enough for you to consider canceling your plans— never long enough to cancel them. The adventure included getting lost in a maze of seagrass, Tokyo drift-style hairpin turns, and close dolphin encounters— never seen those in Florida. Everyone got out alive, but no one will ever be the same.

With all the great local breweries, we went to Charleston Beer Works. A bar that carried lots of local beers in one convenient package. A couple of friends on this trip had Untappd. Let's make sure we log every beer, so we can toast and check in together— game on. My wife and I have a joint account. We always drink twice as much beer as our rivals. Some call it cheating; we call it love— it's cheating pretty much any way you look at it. I wonder if this place has stickers for my kegerator. "Excuse me, do you have any stickers?" Wait— I didn't say that. Are my thoughts audible? No, that was our Untapped challenger. He was also looking for brewery stickers. That's— my thing. A second stop had funny beer quotes on the bar. "You can only drink 30 or 40 glasses of beer a day. No matter how rich you are." - Adolphus Busch.

We met the rest of the crew for happy hour. We were not late. You might think it's weird that I brought that up for no particular reason. Well, I don't get to say that too often. We picked this place specifically for their happy hour. We checked the website to get their happy hour specials, we were told at the door about their happy hour specials, and we saw a giant sign that said they had happy hour. Plot twist— they did not have happy hour. DEUCES. We walked down the street to a place that doesn't falsely advertise. Somebody open their Yelp app. They're about to get reviewed. The new spot enjoyed making fun of the bait-and-switch technique used by their neighbors. They brought out some great local brews and on-tap cocktails. I want to address wine and cocktails directly. I want them to know beer was on tap first-- deal with it.

The last stop before dinner was a rooftop bar. This way, if it decided to rain, we would be the first to know. It did not rain, but the chairs were weird. They were white-kinda-blob-looking things and no two were the same. There was about a 7-percent grade to each of them, and we kept sliding off. Everyone traded seats to see if one spot fit any particular person better— a Cinderella situation. We also rotated to keep a person from staring into the sun for too long. We had 7 seats, and only one was in the sun, so rotating was manageable. I spent about 30 seconds in the sun and got sunburnt. 

We sat outside at dinner because it smelled weird inside. I didn't need to know how the sausage was made. It smelled great outdoors, and the restaurant had a Nashville Hot chicken sandwich. I get that at work sometimes for Friday lunches. It's got some heat with some excellent flavor. I'm sure it won't taste any different here. 

"All I can taste is blood and snot." I'm pretty sure it was pretty good. I shotgunned a couple of beers here to relieve my insides, and we moved on.

The ghost—host of our ghost tour is meeting us at an Irish Pub. Wait a minute, he's not actually a ghost, right? Did anyone confirm? Well, to be safe, I ordered a beer. I'm not sure how that helps with ghosts, but I'm also not sure it doesn't help. I tried to get something local, and they had a tap handle with a big red beard on it: I'll have that. The bartender said it's a Sweetwater Brewing beer. I love that brewery, and I have never seen that tap handle. I don’t think I got the right beer. It was crazy loud in there. Someone was playing the harpsichord or some nonsense— I don't know. As I sat down with our host, who is not a ghost— or is he? He recommended that I get Tommy's Red Beard beer for my next round. First of all, I like where your head's at with this 'next round' stuff. Second, that sounds like the kind of beer with a big red beard for a tap handle. I blamed harpsicords. I had it next.

Before the tour started, the host asked if my wife and I were newlyweds. I said, "No, we're sick of each other."

He told us that was a good thing because the Boohag targeted happy newlyweds. It was just an act to scare her off! Please stop kicking me under the table. The rain chose this 5-minutes to rain since we started walking. It didn't rain a drop while we were in the pub. Now we're out in the rain looking like a bunch of couples at prom. Guys behind the girls holding umbrellas. I had lots of practice at this yesterday while she was taking photos. She offered to hold the umbrella. She had it just high enough to poke me in the eyes a couple of times, and then I offered to take it back— she does it on purpose. The ghosts were interesting, but this is more of a history lesson than scary.

When we got home, everyone was too tired to play games. We went to our separate rooms. I cracked open another mango beer— seriously, who did this— and my latest Michael Crichton novel. As usual, I read the first word and fell asleep.