Twelve minutes off Highway 12, my girlfriend and I...

Twelve minutes off Highway 12, my girlfriend and I arrive 1 minute before the brewery opens on Memorial Day. I back my truck into a spot near their pergola arches and see an old Bobcat skid steer pass by leaving new crushed stone on the lot. He returns to his pile of clean stone resting far-off away on the southwestern part of the lot. My girlfriend and I look at each doubtfully.
"We're here."
"Yeah, there's also that 'Open 7 Days a Week' sign," she smirks.
"It's also..."
"Yeah, Louisiana."
"Yeah," I say with a shrug.
More hopeful, we exit the car and walk through the double-door entrance. A nice lass with glasses setting up the gift shop counter greets us. Only making eye contact with me, and not my girlfriend, she tells us, "We're only doing self-guided tours right now. The upstairs has educational videos on the TVs."
"So *we're* doing the tour and not y'all?"
"That's right," she says realizing her incorrect phrasing.

So through the elevator to the mezzanine level we go. We arrive at an empty floor. I mean, it's empty except for their 1,500-barrel industrial-grade tanks rising from the floor. Tanks for kettling, for boiling, for storing, for fermenting, for kegging. We meander to the 90-inch Sharp Aquos TV with media player controls underneath. It's silent. None of the TVs are on. No sound but an ominous intermittent beep from another room like someone forgot to turn press "Cancel" on the kitchen microwave. The screen on the media control mounted into the wall blinks with button-pushes, but the TV remains black. I press the Power button the left side of the TV. A menu of video options show to us: Welcome to Abita, Self-Guided Tour, Guided Tour Bottling, Guided Tour Mezzanine. We stick to the Self-Guided Tour since we're a compliant sort. Drunk with power, I turn on the other TV. We put it on the "Welcome to Abita" video. The dissonant noises clashes together in the tile and stainless steel room. I raise my arms as if conducting a symphony of cacophony. It would be total pandemonium if it weren't for the calming macros of hops and barley wallpapering the room. The intoxication of the chaos I've generated leads me to smell the chocolate, pale, pellet, and crystal malt grains without any sort of edifying value.
"Do you know what you're smelling for?"
"Nerp."
"Okie. Wanna get some beer?"
I nod, and we head downstairs. But not after I move the table of tupperwared malts to take a photo for this specific Google review. I feel like I'm flying, I'm having such a good time.
"Want me to get a flight?"
"Umm..."

[long stare in silence as we descend the elevator]

"... sure thing."

The only other thing of note was the weird transom window resting in the corner near the grill. I wanted to ask Brenda behind the bar about this odd decor item but decided against it.