I wrote a short story once. It was really short.
I showed it to my friends and they all hated it.
But here you are!
Enjoy it in all its glory.
So there was this guy called Charlie and he wanted to be a brewer, you know, it was his life dream. He just loved beer so much that he wanted his life to revolve around it.
So off Charlie popped to Beer School. Now the problem was that there is no such as beer school. At least to my knowledge but for sake of this narrative let's assume they don't exist.
Charlie tried looking all over the place for a teacher, he went to brewery after brewery but all the breweries out there weren't accepting apprentices, they were stock full. Charlie was devastated. So much that he broke down on the street crying.
This was his life dream. His life goal! And he had no way to achieve it.
By chance a master brewer, George let's call him, passed Charlie on the street and was moved by Charlie's passion for beer and so he took him under his wing.
And so George taught Charlie everything he knew. He taught him about hops, and barley and yeast and other things you put in beer. You know, beer things.
One day George had pressing matters to attend to, his wife was dying or something, but he couldn't just leave the brewery for the beer he was making was to be presented to the king and a bad batch meant certain death. Yes, plot twist, ancient England. He looked at his unfinished beer, the yeast still needed adding to the concoction or something, something that would take a long time and he couldn't just do before popping off to see his wife. And then looked at a drawing of his wife because remember, ancient England, they didn't have cameras.
George was torn, he didn't know what to do. On one hand his wife was dying and on the other if he left now then he would die as well because of the angry king not liking his beer. Seeing this Charlie came up to him. "George," Charlie said, "Go to your wife, I can finish the beer. I am ready to do it."
George was moved by this, he put his hand on Charlie's shoulder, "Are you sure Charlie?" He said, "A bad batch means certain death. If you don't do this perfectly then you will most certainly die."
And Charlie he just stared deep into George's eyes and with unmovable conviction he said, "George. After everything you have taught me. It is the yeast I can do."