Seminarians Don't Blow Stuff Up

From Chapter Four: We Blew Stuff Up "My roommate, Joel, as I've said before, was a werewolf. Signs were aplenty. He had the body and facial hair to prove it; he often paced up and down our small room as if the supernatural detectives were hot on his tail; he would exercise religiously, without his shirt, as if he had a lot of superfluous energy to burn off; and he'd often scratch his beard anxiously. Full moons were suspicious times. One last sign: Joel wanted to brew his own beer. The way I see it, only supernatural demonic beings would want to brew their own alcohol with their own secret ingredients. That such a desire would indicate a werewolf is further evidenced by the fact that we lived on campus at a Methodist seminary. Methodists, as you may know, are not supposed to drink alcohol. There are a number of historical reasons for our ban against alcohol and gambling. Though holiness is part of the equation, much of the equation leans toward helping lift people out of poverty. Drink, gambling, smoking, etc. are often forces of impoverishment. Once in the cycle, money goes down the tubes. Certainly that would resonate with graduate students, you might think. Already burdened by undergraduate debt we have chosen to continue our education towards a vocation that won't pay well. Surely we wouldn't drink. True, surely we wouldn't, in a logical world. Many seminarians unfortunately do drink, however. Even so, it takes a special soul—or lack of one, in the case of werewolves—to brew one's own alcohol on campus of a Methodist seminary. I don't mean to say Joel doesn't have a soul. He has one of the biggest, most caring souls I've come across. Nonetheless, on he forged with his dorm brew of dandelion beer. Financially it was clear he was a graduate student. It was a makeshift brewing container. If memory serves it was one of those glass, slow cookers my wife uses to plate tender, tasty chicken. But, hey, it fit all the necessary chemicals and it locked, so it became a beer brewer. Now, I had no say in this project. After all, I was a first-year student and Joel was an RA. Yes, the one brewing alcohol at a Methodist seminary was in charge of creating a safe and secure environment inside the dorm; of ensuring that we all followed the rules of our dorm covenant. One day, shortly after winter break, I was told that one of our cabinets would be used to store the brew. Coincidentally, perhaps ironically, it was the same cabinet that had previously stored garlic cloves. Which is only ironic for the undead. I think he was trying to convince me he wasn’t a supernatural demonic being. Joel and I took seriously the health benefits derived from eating straight garlic. Our significant others got used to it. At the time, the revelation inside our cabinet meant little to me. I wasn't using the space myself except to steal those garlic cloves. After the story I'm about to relate, though, I realize that home brewing beer in our room may have been his way of paying me back for how our winter break began..."