You drink it. The man said while pointing at him. Get me the right damn beer this time, boy.
The kid went and got a can. Cracked it open. Saw his fingers remove some of the condensation.
After letting out a refreshing sigh the man with the
ten-gallon hat
yelled out, now that's what I call a damn beer. Then he chugged the rest of the can and told the kid to get him another.
The kid didn't know how to deal with his new employer. He was used to his clients being rich men, which this man was. But he was used to rich men who liked expensive drinks and luxury products. This man preferred light beer and driving a semi truck instead of a
Rolls-Royce
.
His hat though had to be pricey. He looked online and couldn't find it. Must've been hand-made. He would find out soon enough, if only he could stay at this job long enough.
The man drank more beer. Making a refreshing sigh after each guzzle. The kid was used to the routine now. His boss always drank at least four beers before having a dinner. It's how he did business.
Every damn deal I've done that's made me a lot of money, I was appropriately buzzed for. Not plastered mind you. But I can't be sober when I'm doing a deal.
David didn't know what he was doing with his life. Why was he a personal assistant and bartender to these rich fucks. How did he end up here with this ten-gallon hat wearing bafoon out in the desert? While fetching the third beer he vowed to himself that he'd get a real job after this deal was over.
Where's that beer, boy??!
David snapped open the can and brought it over. Then he took a sip of the hoppy beer that his boss didn't want.