I was particularly pleased because the automated card culminated in a big pint of Guiness Stout.
Once upon a time, back in another city, when I was working for a radio station, I went to a true Irish pub on Saint Patrick's Day. The owners had removed every stick of furniture from the pub and covered the floor with thick rubber matting. They posted a policeman at the door so that once the pub reached its posted maximum occupancy no one could enter until someone left.
And the Guiness began to flow.
I was calling my radio station throughout the afternoon and doing live reports on the activities from the pub. Of course, I had to indulge in a wee drop of the brew. Every once in awhile. As the afternoon wore on, my reports became . . . . more fluid. I'd like to tell you how it all ended but for some strange reason, I can't remember. So I'll just leave you with this final thought:
One correction for true lovers of that dark Irish stout. The correct brand name is Guinness. I lost an "n" somewhere in that mad crowd back years ago.
