You stare down Tim, riding around on his sexy beast of a forklift in his vibrant, blue, rubber boots. And John, in his unnecessarily stylish Diesel jeans that are worn in all the right places, scrubbing those filthy kegs ‘til they sparkle. You think Paul manages to look even more brilliant as he rinses the floor, hose in hand, with a soft head-bob to Ke$ha.
You know you shouldn't stare. A part of you thinks you should be ashamed of yourself. We are more than just pieces of meat. We have souls. Our mamas raised us properly.To stop your endless daydreaming--sorry, Joe is never going to tattoo your face on his perfectly-toned triathlete chest--I’ve decided to capture some unflattering shots of everyone. And to me it made all the sense in the world to do it by forcing everyone to smoosh their faces on the scanner. So don’t scroll down if you prefer to forever think of us as the hard-working, fine-looking human beings that you perceive us as (and probably truly are).
If these photos turn you on, then something is seriously wrong with you.
Sometimes at the brewery we listen to rock and sometimes we listen to rap. On occasion you might hear some jazz, pop, or a splash of early punk. The important thing to realize is that we’re always lively. Always accomplishing something. Always planning for what we hope will not be your favorite new thing, or the brewery’s favorite new thing, but our favorite thing together. Never complacent and always adapting. Changing the world, probably. These are those stories.