almost okay

My Dear Lyzako,

It sounds as though you're settling in nicely there, my friend. Cheap, accessible booze is always a plus when you find yourself in unfamiliar surroundings. Cheers! On a recent work-related trip to eastern Pennsylvania I was stunned to find that not only were spirits, wine and beer tightly controlled and sold only through special outlet stores there, but that the amount available for purchase was regulated as well.

After putting in a long day on the job, I asked one of the locals where I might find a six-pack of beer. The lovely young girl had a quick conversation with a co-worker before giving me directions to the nearest Wine and Spirits Store. It was 8:40 on a Tuesday night.

“Are you familiar with Fruitville Pike?” she asked me.

“I'm not familiar with anything,” I said. “I'm just in town for two days. But I'm thirsty. Is that the same road that the Home Depot is on? I was at Home Depot earlier.”

She looked at her co-worker, momentarily unsure. “Yes, I think so, but instead of turning towards Home Depot when you get off the freeway, you'll want to go the other way,” she said. Then to the co-worker: “Right?”

“Right.”

“So instead of going right, I go left?” I asked

“Yes, left on Fruitville Pike.”

“Which side of the road is it on?” I asked.

She turned to face the direction that she thought I'd be heading, then swung out her left hand as though she were signaling a turn through the car window. “It'll be on your left, in a strip mall past Chuck E. Cheese. You can't miss it.”

I hightailed it, imagining that the place would close by nine, was relieved to find that it stayed open until ten, walked inside and took a quick look around. I saw stacks of wine in cases, piles of them all over the store, and every kind of liquor you could imagine, all in fifths and gallons. But not a single bottle of beer. I started to panic, snagged a young guy who was shopping and asked him about the beer situation.

“Oh, you have to go the Beer Mart for beer,” he said as though everybody should know that. “It's in the same strip as the Chuck E. Cheese. Just back that way.” He pointed in the direction I had driven down Fruitville Pike. “You can't miss it.”

“This place has the craziest rules I've ever heard,” I said to him, shaking my head in disbelief.

“Chuck E. Fucking Cheese...” I muttered to myself as I sped back up the Pike, turned in and drove all the way around the restaurant, seeing nothing that looked like a beer store. I swung my rental van around the parking lot, drove by all the store fronts, passed a big sign that said 'PARTY STORE', and for a moment thought I'd hit pay dirt. But unlike the 'Party Stores' here in Michigan, this place sold no alcohol. Guess what they did sell? Funny hats, balloons, costumes... shit like that. I should have known.

I was about to give up and just resign myself to miserably drinking a few at the pathetic hotel bar when I saw the sign - like a red, glowing oasis in the dry Pennsylvania desert: 'BEER AND BEVERAGE MART'. After sliding into a parking spot I rushed inside and was nearly overcome by the fluorescent lights.

“Can I help you find something?” asked the guy who worked there. Late forties, balding, paunchy. He looked like a beer drinker.

“Are the six-packs in the cooler?” I asked. I could almost taste the cold suds, nearly quivered with anticipation.

“Pennsylvania law doesn't allow me to sell you a six-pack. You have to buy a case,” he informed me.

“You've got to be shittin' me,” I said.

“But if you're not looking for that much I have cases of seven-ounce bottles that are almost the same as a twelve-pack.”

“I don't believe this,” I said to no one in particular, not even really realizing that I was speaking aloud.

“I know,” he said with sympathy. “I moved here from Illinois and I'm used to being able to buy just one can if that's all I want.”

“It's fucking crazy,” I said. “Doesn't it actually encourage people to go to a bar, encourage them to drink and drive?”

“They're gonna be changing the law but it hasn't taken effect yet,” he said.

After weighing my options I decided on a case of Tecate - four six-packs of cans shrink-wrapped into a shallow cardboard box, each six-pack held together with those plastic rings that end up killing ducks if you toss them in the trash. (I'm not quite sure how that works. The ducks strangle themselves on them somehow, I guess.) I also picked up a couple of bottles of spring water and put it all on the company card. Twenty-four bucks of my per diem spent on a case of beer that I didn't even want. I figured that since I was driving on this trip and not flying, I could just pack the unopened ones and bring them along to Ohio and then back home when the job was over.

So, to sum up...no forties, no Tall Boys, no singles, no six-packs. No little airplane bottles of liquor. No pints, half-pints or anything less than a fifth. No wine at the grocery store. No sir, not in Pennsylvania, dammit! Not in the home of the Amish, the Liberty Bell and... can you FUCKING BELIEVE that you CAN'T BUY a FORTY in PHILLY?!!! Listen, I didn't ACTUALLY GO to PHILLY, but the guy said it was a STATEWIDE LAW, this CRAZY FUCKING NO-SIX-PACK-CASE-ONLY BEER LAW!! Please, PLEEEEZE....SOMEBODY tell me that in PHILLY you can get a SIX-PACK OF COLD BEER!!! PLEEEEZE.....!!

WHAT THE FUCK EVER HAPPENED TO THE CONCEPT OF FREEDOM, FOR CRYIN' OUT LOUD?!!!!! HUH?!!!! FREEEEEDOOOOMMMM!!!!

GIVE ME A FORTY
OR GIVE ME
MOTHERFUCKING
DEEEEAAAAAATH!!!!!!

Cordially,
Marty Sherman