Due to Kentucky state law, we can't open the liquor store until 1pm on Sunday afternoon. This displeases the hopeless alcoholics and serial shoppers. They WAIT OUTSIDE THE DOOR until we open. God, I hate the people who get out of their cars and stand in front of the door. They're never cool people, ever. Decent people are at home nursing hangovers or at bars watching football. Only assholes stand in line to be the first wave in to shuffle aimlessly through the aisles of a liquor store.
And since our store also sells food, party supplies, and gift items we get not only the boozy reprobates associated with liquor stores but also the run-of-the-mill mindless sheep common to the general retail experience. As soon as the sound of a toothless vagrant complaining that a pint of Barton's Gin has gone up a nickel has stopped rattling around my skull, I have the last survivor of Noah's Ark asking me ten detailed questions about our condiment inventory.
Sunday is strictly Amateur Day. After the first hour, when the hardcore alcoholics have gotten their fix, the store is populated mostly by people who only leave their filthy hovels once a week. They have the vacant, stunned look of cattle before the slaughter; and their personal hygiene is uniformly atrocious. They ask questions like "What kind of wine goes best with molestation?" and "Why does Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill cost more than it did in 1974?" They'll stand in front of a huge door marked BEER COOLER and inquire "Is there cold beer in there?"
Today we were visited by two very rough looking guys who were covered from head to toe with dirt and soot. They also, quite frankly, smelled like the dumpster behind a fish market. They came in the store on three separate occasions, each time making substantial purchases. What did these dirty, smelly, and kind of frightening men spend hundreds of dollars on? Harsh gin? Rotgut whiskey? Cheap tequilla? Nope. They bought Painted Pony collectibles.
Yes, our liquor store has a gift section that sells dainty porcelain horseys, at over thirty bucks a pop, and these two brutish thugs bought about a dozen of them. I can only surmise that they're filling the ponies with uncut heroin to transport across the state line.
I wish liquor stores were closed on Sundays. The one time I want the bible thumpers to be all bible thumpy, and they let me down.
Addendum: I finally thought of who the Painted Pony buyers looked like: Raising Arizona's Gale and Evelle Snoats.
And since our store also sells food, party supplies, and gift items we get not only the boozy reprobates associated with liquor stores but also the run-of-the-mill mindless sheep common to the general retail experience. As soon as the sound of a toothless vagrant complaining that a pint of Barton's Gin has gone up a nickel has stopped rattling around my skull, I have the last survivor of Noah's Ark asking me ten detailed questions about our condiment inventory.
Sunday is strictly Amateur Day. After the first hour, when the hardcore alcoholics have gotten their fix, the store is populated mostly by people who only leave their filthy hovels once a week. They have the vacant, stunned look of cattle before the slaughter; and their personal hygiene is uniformly atrocious. They ask questions like "What kind of wine goes best with molestation?" and "Why does Boone's Farm Strawberry Hill cost more than it did in 1974?" They'll stand in front of a huge door marked BEER COOLER and inquire "Is there cold beer in there?"
Today we were visited by two very rough looking guys who were covered from head to toe with dirt and soot. They also, quite frankly, smelled like the dumpster behind a fish market. They came in the store on three separate occasions, each time making substantial purchases. What did these dirty, smelly, and kind of frightening men spend hundreds of dollars on? Harsh gin? Rotgut whiskey? Cheap tequilla? Nope. They bought Painted Pony collectibles.
Yes, our liquor store has a gift section that sells dainty porcelain horseys, at over thirty bucks a pop, and these two brutish thugs bought about a dozen of them. I can only surmise that they're filling the ponies with uncut heroin to transport across the state line.
I wish liquor stores were closed on Sundays. The one time I want the bible thumpers to be all bible thumpy, and they let me down.
Addendum: I finally thought of who the Painted Pony buyers looked like: Raising Arizona's Gale and Evelle Snoats.
15 Comments:
I hate toothless vagrants too.
Our spa is open to the public, despite being located inside a hotel/casino. Every once in a while a customer we suspect is homeless will buy a day pass and spend the entire day lounging in the men's spa, sucking down the free juice and eating the free fruit while watching the big-screen tv. Oh, and using a mound of towels, a robe, and a pair of sandals. Unless another guest complains, there's nothing much we can do about it. So far we haven't had to deal with it on the women's side!
We can't buy hard liquor and wine on Sunday here in TN. Damn it.
They ask questions like "What kind of wine goes best with molestation?"
hahah nice!
Well this was a nice way to start off my week.
In Ontario the liquor stores aren't open on Sunday at all, and then the poor drunks have to wait until 11am to buy booze on Monday. It's enough to drive a person to a hard pretty pony habit.
Do do the drunks come in after they've swilled all the listerine from the local grocery store.
(Came here via Burfica's blog)
funny stuff
at 8a on last sunday, i decided that my mother's homemade plum wine would be wonderful with our eggs, bacon, and toast. hapPEEE birthDAYYYY to meeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEeeeeee, grins, debra
Come to Mississippi, our Bible thumpers are thumpier than ever. There are no liquor stores in my county, and you can forget buying liquor anywhere on Sundays, too. Food in a liquor store? What's that? But worst of all... NO PAINTED PONIES.
edensky, do you mean the province of Ontario, because despite our myriad antiquated liquor laws I haven't encountered an LCBO that was closed on sundays in recent memory.
I cannot encourage you strongly enough to collect these workplace stories and put them into a book.
You're not going to listen to me, are you?
Thank god we only have to wait until 11 am here in Chicago.
Back many years ago, when I was living with my son's mother, I went to Osco, a drugstore chain here in Chicago. My now-ex, who didn't drink, wanted to celebrate something, and I told her I'd pick up some alcohol-free wine. When I got to the cashier, she refused to sell it to me because they couldn't sell alcohol before 11 on a Sunday. I pointed out to her that it had no alcohol. She refused to budge, even after I pointed out that I could buy cough syrup that was like 20% alcohol, but not the alcohol-free wine.
Ha Ha! A Gale and Evelle Snoats reference!
I need to find your liquor store, ours are so boring by comparison. The same creeps are still there in front of the doors yes, but painted pony collectibles? Man oh man.
I worked in my dad's liquor store upon graduating from college and needing extra cash. My favorite standing at the door til you open customer would "purchase" pints of Wild Irish Rose with vinyl albums. I have a heckuva collection ranging from Diana Ross to Jerry Lee Lewis. haha!
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