Tales of creation abound. The Christians took care of the entire universe and all the messy bits in it in a couple of neat pages, no need fooling about with fancy explanations, they had a schedule to keep. While the Greeks and Romans took a long lazy walk and told tales of big picture events, like the origin of the world, and other things, like the tale of some god cavorting with three mortal sisters while the god’s wife was home doing the laundry, and when the wife found out about the cavorting she cursed the sisters who then prayed to another god for deliverance and were saved from certain death when the second god turned them into that bunch of flowers over there on the left of the path just behind the rock with a dent in it. Oh, there are four flowers? Well, I stand corrected; there must have been four sisters.
Well, why not some new tales of creation? And why not about the little things?
Carl the Brewer
Carl was a brewer and he was the best. In those days of course, no one much traveled more than three to five miles from where they were born, and in the relatively low population density area, market forces being what they were, supply and demand, etc., Carl only had about two competitors, and one of those was a milk maid (not for a long while, but she liked to keep up the pretense, being unmarried and all) who occasionally forgot and left the milk out in the sun, and then tried to pass it off as “udder wine”. So, being largely ignorant of any competition beyond the distance that, say, an overeager locust might travel in a good swarm, Carl was free and easy with his boasts. “I’m a brewer,” Carl would say, “and I’m the best.”
One day there came to Carl’s brewery a traveler who was a god in disguise. At this point we know something bad is about to happen to Carl, but just for a second, let’s break from that and ask some simple questions: why travel; and why the disguise? You’re a god, surely you have some better way to get from point A to point B than taking the non-hopping kangaroo express. Fly. Not a flying god? Hitch a ride with a flyer. Conjure up a horse, or elephant, or camel on which to ride. Wink out of one space-time locality and pop into another. Bicycle.
But more importantly, why the disguise? Here we have a god, gussied up like not-a-god, and when he’s not treated like a god, but is in fact treated like not-a-god, he’s gets all upset about it. Well what did you expect? It’s as if you’re deliberately setting people up. There’s a sign, a waiter with thin mustache, table cloths, salt and pepper shakers, napkins, menus—How dare think this is a restaurant!—shouts the not-a-waiter in a French accent when you ask about the specials. So these gods are just pretty much narcissistic bullies. And not very inventive ones at that, cursed to be forever thirsty and can’t take a drink, that’s nice, but it’s got nothing on potato chips.
The digression was pretty lengthy, so let’s try to catch up quickly: “I’m a weary traveler, I’ll have a beer.” “Here you go. I brew the best beer around.” “Wanna bet?” “Sure!” Competition.
Now at this point we don’t know if Carl wins or loses. Occasionally the mortal outdoes the god and of course gets cursed anyway. The general rule of thumb when competing with gods is: don’t. Unless you’re in a boy band or on a morning variety show.
It turns out Carl’s water, bark, and malt wasn’t quite as good as water, hops, and malt (and where do “hops” even come from? A village 15 miles away?! That’s a week’s journey and you’ll likely be killed by bandits!). So carl was cursed by the bully god who declared that he and his descendants should never brew good beer, try as they might. The brewer became short and squat and black. He grew a tail and lives in a cave in the ground and when he’s disturbed he emerges and serves his foe, not beer, but vinegar. And that is the story of where vinegaroons came from.