[Author’s Note: This post was originally published under the title Blast from the Past: April 14, 2017 — although, admittedly, I didn’t write this story until March 2019.
Last year, the Chemical and Biological Engineering Department of my alma mater decided to compile a departmental history book, and the chief authors put out an open invitation for alumni submissions.
Now, there are a lot of things I could [accurately] write about the Mines ChemE department. However, since most of those things are mean and/or disheartening, I chose instead to finally put down the story of my biggest coup in college.
Unfortunately, when I originally submitted this piece, I was informed that it was about six pages too long. With a heavy heart, I slashed the story to a single anemic page, and my weakened submission was accepted into the final departmental book.
The original version, though, remained dormant — but hopeful! — in the Notes app on my phone. Now, a year later, it is ready to spring upon an unsuspecting audience: you.
One final note — several of these characters should be familiar. (Although, of course, their names are changed here.) Hal appears in the concluding Author’s Note of Blast from the Past: April 1, 2016, and Ernie is a supporting actor in Bo’s First Egg Hunt.
I am not sad to be done with college, but I do miss seeing these men every day. Truly, they were the best of friends.]
On March 28, 2019, Coors Brewery started charging for admission. It was a sad day for Mines students.
For years, the free short tour (aka “Coors Lab”) was a popular destination for juniors and seniors throughout the week, and the Chemical Engineering students did not go unrepresented. Many an afternoon would find a group of us indulging in our three free pours after class — or, in the case of this tale, during class.
But, this isn’t a story about skipping class to drink beer. Well, let me clarify — this isn’t just a story about skipping class to drink beer. More importantly, it’s a story about four best friends: Hal, Ernie, Kurt, and me.
It was a warm spring day — April 14th, to be exact. Graduation was about a month away, and senioritis was rampant among the Class of 2017. E-Days would kick off the following Wednesday, and the constant buzz of expectant exuberance did nothing to help our focus on this Friday. The drone of chatter in the fourth-floor computer lab promised that we weren’t the only distracted ChemEs that morning.
“Hey, remember that we’re in here for Process Control class today,” Hal reminded us as he cleared out his email inbox.
“Yay,” Kurt groaned.
“Hey now, maybe it’ll be fun!” I mused.
My three companions glanced at me incredulously. I couldn’t help but giggle.
“Um, I think that’s unlikely,” Kurt stated.
But, I was unwilling to back down. “Nah, maybe we’ll finally learn what the AMIGO method is!” I suggested.
The “approximate M-constrained integral gain optimization method” is a technique by which to tune a PID controller, but none of us knew that. (Or, really, what a PID controller was, either.) The concept had been briefly mentioned in Process Dynamics and Control class the previous week, but no one was quite sure how to use this “AMIGO method” — or, more importantly, if we were going to be tested on it.
The boys rolled their eyes.
“Not compelling, Holly,” Hal quipped.
I rocked back in my swivel chair. “Well, I tried my best. You’re right: it’ll probably suck.”
After a pause, Ernie leaned forward conspiratorially. “You know, it doesn’t have to suck,” he began. “We could… just ditch class and go to Coors Lab instead.”
“Yes,” said Kurt.
“Definitely that one,” I agreed.
“Um,” hedged Hal.
We all looked at our fearless leader.
“Come on, Hal, don’t be such a stick in the mud!” Ernie whined.
“I just can’t do it,” he confessed. “I would feel too bad.”
“Wait, you just admitted to thinking this class would be terrible,” I pointed out.
“Well, yes, but that’s basically true anytime we have a ‘special session’ in the computer lab. Plus, it’ll be super obvious if we don’t go, and then how do you think Damien will feel?”
We all pondered for a second. I was pretty sure our teacher, Dr. García, might actually be relieved if we pulled a vanishing act. While the four of us were very committed students, our overall diligence was not always reflected in the classroom. I knew that our unremitting side conversations [rightfully] frustrated our instructor.
“He’ll be happy?” I guessed in answer to the rhetorical question.
Hal stifled a laugh. Ernie and Kurt didn’t stifle theirs.
“The point,” Hal retorted, “is not whether or not he actually wants us in his class. The point is that I — personally— can’t skip class.”
[If you’re curious, the answer is yes, Hal was always like this. A few weeks later, he won the award for “Best Person to Take Home to Mom” during the Senior Barbecue.]
Ernie spat out, “Child!” — which was his most vehement insult that semester.
Hal glared at Ernie and said, “You won’t change my mind by being mean.”
Ernie shrugged, as if to say, It might work one of these days!
Hal continued. “Look, you guys can go without me! I’ll go to class, and you three go to Coors Lab.”
This time, the incredulous looks were directed at Hal.
“You know we can’t go without you!” I shot back.
“Why not?” Hal seemed genuinely surprised.
“Because we do everything together! Duh!” I rejoined. “Like, literally, all four of us went shopping for Ernie’s Career Fair shoes this year!”
We all took a second to glare at Ernie.
“You guys have good taste…?” he mumbled.
“Whatever, Ernie,” Kurt sighed. “Holly’s right though. It’s all or nothing, Hal. If you don’t go, neither will we.”
Ernie jumped in. “Oh, come on, Hal! Kurt never asks for anything! You’re not gonna humor him this one time?”
We three delinquents plastered on identical puppy-dog expressions.
Nevertheless, Hal’s resolve didn’t waver. “I’m sorry! But if you guys won’t go without me, then I guess I’ll see you all in class, because I’m not going to skip.”
Ernie and Kurt sat back in their chairs. We all knew that there was no changing Hal’s mind once he made it up — although that didn’t always stop us from trying.
I gave it one last go. Casting pleading eyes on my best friend, I implored, “Isn’t there anything that would convince you?”
Hal sighed. “If Damien goes to Coors Lab, then I’ll come too.”
Kurt spoke for all of us. “Well, that’ll never happen.”
As usual, the four of us met in the computer lab just before Process Control class. It was our final opportunity to persuade Hal, but none of us was optimistic about our chances. After all, our numerous texts throughout the day had fallen on seemingly deaf ears. Hal’s implied response was clear: he would not be skipping class today.
By this point, Kurt and I were reconciled to our fate. Ernie, on the other hand, had a different plan.
Looking up from a stack of papers, he informed us, “I’m just gonna stay here and try to get these reports graded for Thermo Lab. I’m extremely confident that I won’t be missing anything, since Damien’s original plans have clearly gone down the drain.”
Ernie was probably right. We had all received an email from Dr. García alerting us to a last-minute change of plans. Rather than having a special class session in the computer lab, we would be in our usual classroom instead. This eleventh hour amendment did indeed suggest that the best-laid plans of mice and professors had gone awry.
Nevertheless, I smacked Ernie’s shoulder. “Mean! Maybe he has a back-up lesson plan. And also, shame on you for skipping without us! Now we’ll all know what the AMIGO method is, and you won’t.”
Kurt half-heartedly muttered, “Well, we could all skip… After all, Coors Lab is still open….”
Hal gave us a conciliatory look. “Let’s just go next week, guys.”
I scoffed, “Yeah, I’m sure it won’t be busy during E-Days.”
Hal shot an annoyed glance at me, but just then, our former Kinetics TA came running into the computer lab.
The four of us huffed out a collective sigh. This particular grad student, Rafi, was possibly the least-equipped TA we had ever encountered. His “help” was frequently un-helpful, and I think he knew more about local breweries than he did about Kinetics.
It’s possible that I was wrong about him — but, not this afternoon. Addressing one of our classmates, Rafi crowed, “Dude, it’s beer time!”
This behavior normally wouldn’t have bothered me. However, since I had so recently given up my own chance for a fun afternoon, I didn’t want anyone else to have one, either.
“Wait, he has Process with us in like five minutes!” I berated the grad student.
“Um, this is way more important than Process,” Rafi assured me. “He needs to come help me celebrate, because I just passed my thesis proposal!”
With one accord, Ernie, Hal, Kurt and I deadpanned, “Wooooo.”
I had never felt closer to my best friends than I did in that moment.
Rafi was not amused. “It’s more significant than anything any of you’ve done in your lives!” he spat.
None of us were impressed. Each of us was a top-tier student whose academic skills, from what we had seen, far surpassed those of our former TA. Hal (who went on to become the E-Days Gold Pan ChemE, the AIChE ChemE of the Year, and the VIP of Field Session) shrugged and stated, “I got up this morning.”
Our former TA ignored the comment. Then, turning to our class-ditching classmate, he snapped, “Come on, let’s go.”
The pair stormed past us and out into the hall.
“Man, he really gets my goat,” I muttered.
Hal grunted. “Well, not every grad student is like that. Ok, are we all ready?”
Ernie patted the stack of lab reports and quipped, “Yep! Got everything I need to stay right here.”
Kurt sighed. “I swear, Ernie, sometimes I don’t know why we’re friends with you.”
We left Ernie to his grading and walked downstairs. I nervously glanced at Kurt and Hal as I grasped the door handle.
What if we’re the only ones in the class? And what if he doesn’t have a back-up lesson plan? I worried.
As the three of us filed into Alderson Hall Room 340, my fears were partially confirmed. The classroom was desolate. Maybe a third of the 60+ enrolled students had shown up, and Dr. García was nowhere to be seen.
We claimed our usual seats, then watched as our professor slipped through the door and shuffled into the room. I had never seen him look so dejected. With shoulders slumped and head hanging low, he was quite the portrait of despair.
Resignedly, our teacher turned to the class and mumbled, “Ok, well I had a really great lesson planned for today, but I discovered very belatedly that the computers are not yet equipped with the software that we will need.”
It seemed that our teacher’s Colombian accent always became more pronounced whenever he was upset, and this was no exception. I am sure that I was not the only student who felt a pang of sympathy for our instructor that afternoon.
Dr. García continued, “So, I suppose that I’ll just figure out something that we can discuss today… If nothing else, we can just review what we studied on Wednesday.”
So I guess there *isn’t* a back-up lesson plan, I surmised.
The professor turned to the board and began to aimlessly sketch out a few system responses. His stance positively radiated defeat.
Oh gosh, this is worse for him than it is for us, I realized. Poor guy!
“Still happy we came to class?” Kurt whispered.
Hal didn’t respond, but I’m pretty sure he was thinking, What Damien needs is an ice-cold beer!
Suddenly, I recalled Hal’s words from earlier. If Damien goes to Coors Lab, then I’ll come too. Maybe this afternoon could still improve for us — and our teacher!
I quickly devised a foolproof plan — Step 1: convince Dr. García to cancel class and go to Coors with us, and Step 2: … well, you know, there actually wasn’t a Step 2 — although that didn’t stop me from commencing Step 1.
As usual, I started speaking before waiting to be called on. “Dr. García?”
The professor slowly turned around and sighed, “Yes, Holly?”
Here was my moment. If this was going to work, I had to play it cool — ease into the notion, really let Dr. García think it was *his* idea in the first place. In a word, I had to be subtle. So I said…
“Have you ever been to Coors Lab?”
Subtlety has never been a strength of mine.
Unsurprisingly, our professor was quite taken aback. “Coors… Lab? A lab in the new building?” (At this point in time, the CoorsTek Center for Applied Science and Engineering was still in the early stages of construction.)
“Um… no, it’s not exactly a lab, per se. Actually, I’m not entirely sure why we call it that,” I admitted.
Next to me, Kurt was cowering behind Hal, who in turn had sunk so low in his desk that only his shoulders and head could be seen.
“What are you doing?” the latter hissed.
I smiled and blithely continued on. “So, it’s actually Coors beer, not CoorsTek, that I’m talking about. Have you ever done the brewery tour?”
Our teacher looked mildly ashamed. “Um, no… but I plan on doing it eventually, you know. Maybe once school gets out.”
I realized that I had inadvertently pointed out what might have been seen as a shortcoming, so I was quick to assure my professor. “Oh, don’t worry, I haven’t actually done it either. I was, um, yeah, I was actually talking more about the short tour. It’s where you skip the tour and just drink beer. That’s what we call ‘Coors Lab’.”
A wave of quickly-suppressed laughter rippled across the classroom. I sensed dozens of staring eyes in my peripheral, but at this point, there was really no backing down. Dr. García peered at me expectantly, as if to ask, Where are you going with this?
And so, artlessly, I stammered, “So, I was thinking — well, I mean obviously you’re super bummed that you had to cancel class in the computer lab — and of course, we’re all sad too, right? — but what I was thinking was, what if you just canceled class… and we all went to Coors Lab instead?”
I heard the thud of Hal’s forehead as it hit his desk. My peripheral now revealed gaping jaws as well as staring eyes.
Amazingly, Dr. García seemed to be considering my proposal. “So you’re saying that we stop class now, and go buy beer instead?” he queried.
“Oh, no, the beer is actually free!” I clarified. Then, gesturing to the mostly-empty classroom, I tactlessly added, “Plus, basically everyone has already skipped class. Don’t you want to reward us faithful students for being here today?”
Dr. García’s quirked eyebrow suggested that my statement was a bit gauche. I was doing a poor job of articulating my case, but fervently hoped that my enthusiasm would atone for my lack of social acuity.
“Well.…” he stalled, attempting to smother a smile with little success. It wasn’t the first time we had bantered in class, but he didn’t usually enjoy it quite so much.
I met Hal’s panicked gaze. This was your idea, I mouthed.
His head dropped to the desk once more.
At the front of the classroom, Dr. García appeared to be collecting his thoughts. Fixing a mock-stern look on his face, he slowly began, “I don’t know….”
This was the moment of decision — where he would determine whether or not my plea had been sufficiently convincing. But, I still had one more card to play: a maneuver I concocted that very second.
“Oh! And one more thing — if we all go right now, then we won’t be going as teacher and students: we’ll be going as friends!”
And then, with a dramatic pause and a theatrical flourish, I concluded, “It’s called — THE AMIGO METHOD!”
And that was the moment I knew my rash gambit had worked.
My professor’s faux scowl melted into an unrestrained grin. My two dozen classmates alternately stared in shock or roared with laughter. My impertinence and panache had long been a source of tension between me and my peers — but for once, everyone seemed to approve of my audacity… now that it had worked. Even Hal and Kurt smiled at me, although both still shook their heads in feigned disgust.
“Wow. You just don’t give up,” Hal muttered.
“It’s because I love you!” I replied sweetly.
Dr. García was still chuckling as the noise level returned to a normal register. Resuming our conversation, he queried, “So how are we going to organize this logistically?”
“We’ll all carpool!” I announced brightly. “You’re going to ride in Hal’s car, and we’ll all meet down there and walk in together.”
(After all, he couldn’t ride in my car. I’m a terrible driver.)
The professor looked at my friend. “Is that ok?”
“Sure!” Hal agreed amiably.
“Alright! I will see you all at Coors Lab!” Dr. García proclaimed to the class.
And that is exactly what happened.
I immediately ran up to the computer lab.
“Ernie! I did it! We’re all going to Coors Lab!” I breathlessly reported.
“You convinced Hal to skip —“ <glancing at the time> “— five minutes into class?”
“No!” I crowed in triumph. “I convinced Damien to skip five minutes into class!”
Ernie looked at me in astonishment — which was a gratifying treat, since very little surprises him. “Really?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes! Hal was like, ‘I’ll go if Damien goes,’ so obviously my only option was to convince Damien to go! You should’ve been there — he actually looked so excited to have something to do and people to do it with. I’m really pumped.”
Ernie shook his head in wonder. “Dang, Holly, that’s it. You’ve peaked. Your life is all downhill from here.”
[Author’s Note: Ernie’s statement had proven a little on-the-nose.]
I scowled in response. “Oh, shut up. You have to go now if you want to ride with Hal. He’s parked in his usual spot.”
Ernie gathered up his papers and stuffed them unceremoniously into his backpack. “Sweet! Are you coming with us?”
I shook my head. “Nah, Art just texted and asked if he could ride with me, and we can’t all six of us fit in Hal’s car.”
“Well, not legally, anyway,” Ernie muttered under his breath.
We raced down the stairs of Alderson and out into the luxurious sunshine.
“Ok, we’ll see you guys there!” I called as Ernie started toward the CTLM parking lot.
[Author’s Note: In the intervening years, this parking lot has become yet another building.]
Ernie flashed me a thumbs-up in response.
I turned to see my long-time friend Art waiting for me on the lawn. “Hey, thanks for the ride,” he greeted me.
“Well, don’t thank me until we get there alive,” I warned.
Thankfully, we made it to the Coors parking lot without incident. After nabbing one of the remaining open slots, we spotted my best friends and Dr. García walking toward the brewery entrance.
Art and I caught up with the quartet just as they entered the Coors building, where we subsequently waited in line for about twenty minutes. Most of our other classmates joined us within that time period, and we all took the required goofy Coors picture. (Alas — it is a photo of which I do not have possession.)
The gaggle of us flashed our IDs and received our wristbands, then shepherded our teacher to the Coors Hospitality Lounge.
“Ok, so now we’ll get in line for beer,” Ernie explained. The professor followed my friends into the queue, and they were joined by the rest of our classmates.
“I’ll go grab tables!” I called to their retreating forms.
(Oh yeah — I guess it bears mentioning that, despite my frequent trips to Coors Lab… I don’t drink beer.)
One by one, my peers congregated at the cluster of high-top tables I had claimed, and as we watched, a fascinating phenomenon occurred. Dr. García’s stern, professorial facade started to melt away, and seemingly for the first time, we got to see him as a real person.
I listened to our instructor chat freely with my peers about his time at Texas A&M, his preference for liquor versus beer, and his beloved wife, who was still in Chicago as she finished up her PhD. That Friday, the man before us wasn’t Dr. García, our professor; rather, he was simply Damien, a fellow engineer and Oredigger.
The afternoon had somehow transformed from a lackluster day of class into an unforgettable experience for my classmates and me — and seemingly, for our teacher, too. As the party broke up and we each returned to our own lives, I was once again joined by my three best friends.
Sidling up beside me, Ernie spoke for all of us when he concluded, “Well, I guess we learned what the AMIGO method is after all!”
Aww, this really makes me miss ChemE. I would give anything to go to Coors Lab with a bunch of classmates right now!
Right!? Even if it *does* cost $5 now!