The other day, after work, I was sitting in traffic. About a quarter mile up the road I could see the police car parked on the shoulder, all lit up. Car length by car length, I made my slow approach, rhythmically stepping down, and then letting up, on the brake pedal.
As my turn arrived to clear this phantom bottle neck, the police car, in a most peculiar way, moved its nose out just the slightest amount into my lane. So I stopped. I figured the nice police man was going to make a u-turn and head back the direction from which he came. I waited until the oncoming traffic had passed and then I waited some more. Nothing happened.
So I started to go. And then he started to go. So I stopped. And then he stopped. Both of us with the kind of stops to make our front ends dip forward just a bit. I waited for a few seconds and figured that with no oncoming traffic that the cop wasn't planning a u-turn. I figured that the traffic tit for tat, that “I'm going, oh he's going, I'll stop, now he's stopped” sequence was just the latest example of imagined flirtations in a life comprised largely of misperceived interactions.
“None of this is real,” I thought as I slowly eased off the brake and started my forward motion. As I approached the police car at single digit speeds, the cop started to put down his driver side window. I thought about coming to a stop again but decided against it when I realized the cop had just opened the window just the tiniest bit.
“Do cops smoke?” I thought. Specifically, can they smoke in their cruisers? I share this thought with you only to help you understand the size of the crack in this window. It was, at best, a smoker's crack.
During my vehicle's slow roll, my attention was centered entirely on this crack, this ever so slightly opened window. To my surprise, a single finger, not a cigarette (I knew they didn't smoke in their cars!), emerged from said crack in said window. I expected the window to continue it's journey downward and for a whole hand, or a complete arm, to appear. However, nothing of the sort happened, leaving just a solitary finger to convey the immediate wants and needs of the law.
I assumed, as I was already moving and there was no oncoming traffic, that the finger would soon start making an inchworm type motion, signaling for me go ahead. And working under that assumption, I pulled partially into the other lane and started to drive past the police car.
It was not until I had made my way alongside the police car and heard the nice officer screaming “hey” through his mostly closed window – my passenger window was almost half way down as it was in the low 60s and sunny and I don't like to put my driver's side window down because I fear an errant roadway pebble may find my forehead or eyeball and render me temporarily unable to operate a motor vehicle – that I realized that his protruding digit was in fact signaling for me to wait. I now understood that his one finger was his way of communicating to me that he wanted me to wait for approximately one unit of time.
A second? A minute? Maybe an hour? And why was I waiting? Perhaps he wanted me to let exactly one more car go by before I could go. But I saw no other cars. Potentially, that wait could have been infinite.
As I realized all of these things, I was passing the stationary police car at however fast my Subaru travels on flat ground when I take my foot off the brake, which is to say I was moving literally in slow motion. For some reason, as his screaming face slowly passed by my passenger window, I looked at him much like I would have looked at the fender bender from earlier in the day that set this exact chain of events in motion, which is to say I looked at him moronically, and then I accelerated.
And so the officer pursued me.
“Did you pull over?” asked Dr. Rayon Vert, my therapist (he looks like Jude Law and his office is in my imagination).
No. He didn't have his lights on anymore.
“So he didn't necessarily pursue you, per say. More like he followed you.”
The officer pursued me.
“Fine, he pursued you. What did you do?”
Well, first, I drove very carefully. Second, I briefly imagined a scenario in which the cop did turn his lights on and in which I was a sea turtle.
“Are those two separate scenarios, or are both of those things happening in the same scenario?”
“So you imagined you are a sea turtle, driving a car, being pulled over by a police man?”
That is correct. And I am driving the car with my turtle flippers, and sort of standing up on my back flippers, and really stretching out my sea turtle neck so that I can see over the steering wheel.
“And how did you imagine such a scenario playing out?”
Well, I would pull over and the officer would approach the car, and he wouldn't see anybody in the driver's seat. So as he gets closer, he looks in through the window and sees this medium sized sea turtle laying on the driver's seat, because I would no longer be standing up on my back flippers as to not tip him off that I am actually humanoid.
“I see, that's a good plan. And then what would happen?” asked Dr. Vert, humoring my very existence.
The cop would open the driver's door, and I, the sea turtle, would just plop out of the car and slowly try and flipper myself away, back to the ocean, much like you see sea turtles do on beaches after they lay their eggs and start to make their way back to the sea.
“But you were an awfully long way from the ocean, weren't you? Do you think you would have made it?”
Yeah, exactly, I thought the same thing Dr. Vert. You and me, we are like on the same wavelength, I'm telling you. Sympathetico. But no, I realized that I didn't know enough about sea turtles to be sure of the end game. Like, how long can sea turtles be out of water? Could I have made it? I don't know.
“Okay. Good. So then what?”
I restarted the scenario but this time I was a box turtle, because I know box turtles can be on land for a long time. So I'm this oversized box turtle, standing on my little box turtle back legs, and I'm using my front legs to hold the steering wheel, and my little box turtle head keeps looking up into the rearview mirror watching the cop, and then the lights go on.
“And do you pull over?” asked Dr. Vert.
Of course, right away. I pull over and now I'm just a normal sized box turtle. Before the cop gets up to my car, I just pull everything into the shell. He looks in and all he see is a little turtle shell. Nobody in there, just a turtle shell. And that's it. He drive's away confused and I'm a free turtle man.
“Have you recently watched the new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie?”
No, wasn't interested.
“I fear it may have crept into your subconscious. Regardless, did you end up getting pulled over? What actually happened?”
Oh, no. Nothing came of it. He tailed me for a while and then turned around in some parking lot.
“What did you do when you got home? How did all this make you feel?” Dr. Vert asked, rapid fire.
I felt okay. When I got home I drank about 6 Sensi Harvests and watched Monday Night Football.
“You got home and drank six beers? Did you have work the next day?”
Yeah, they're delicious. And I was fine – they're only 4.7% ABV.
Sensi Harvest, Sixpoint Brewery (1.84 BAR, 112 Style+)
Appearance = 4.5/5
Clear and bright golden orange. Maybe a finger of off white head, retains a thin layer. Some decent lacing.
Smell = 3.5/5
This is a wet hopped beer so it has some of those nice wet hopped floral and grapefruit and pine and green veggie aromas. However, this can has an expiration date of December 17th so the aroma is not particularly strong. Based on previous notes from about a month ago, I don't think it's lost much, but definitely some. Still a nice smell though if you like wet hopped beers.
Flavor = 4.25/5
At 4.7% ABV, this is practically a session pale ale and I would say this one is thus far the best one I've had. The wet hopped flavors follow the aroma with a balanced combination of the green bitterness, a bit of citrus and tropical fruit, and some pine and grapefruit hints. The finish has some nice herbal and floral bite to it, like most wet hopped ales, but this, because of the light, bready, malt sweetness, seems to transition to that finish in a very subtle and smooth way. Even though this expires in a month, if I see another case of it in the next week or two, I will probably buy it.
Feel = 4/5
Definitely a bit of a lighter feel than most wet hopped ales but still manages to have that great slickness. The carb is pretty light. This goes down easy.
Overall = 4/5
A very enjoyable beer. The idea that I can drink quite a few of these flavorful wet hopped beers without waking up filled with regret is a wonderful thing.
J.R. Shirt sometimes is a sea turtle on Twitter. Nope. No he's not. Follow him on Twitter and Untappd @beeronmyshirt. Listen to the Drinking With Shirt Beersport Podcast here or on iTunes.