almost okay

My Dear Lyzako,

It seems that a previous note from myself to you was based in large part on factual error as pertains to the liquor laws in the great state of Pennsylvania. I mistakenly thought that the only way beer was offered for sale there was in increments of twenty-four, which is indeed what I was told by the owner of a state ‘Beverage Store’ during my last visit. They even went to the trouble to stock cases of seven-ounce bottles as a way around the ’twenty-four or nothing’ rule. No mention was made that I could buy anything less than a case unless I bought it to go from certain bars, which seemed at the time as though it would be a risky proposition that might lead to me pounding a few while I was there prior to the six-pack purchase. Not a bad idea if I were a local and completely familiar with the terrain, but I feared a car with an out-of-state licence plate swerving and jerking as though the driver was lost (and/or under the influence) might tip off the authorities and I wasn’t in a position to deal with getting pulled over, drunk or not.

Upon my second visit to the ‘Keystone State’, I was finally set straight, if not on the specifics of the beer selling law, at least on where I could easily purchase the quantities I desired for immediate consumption. After a harried day of airports and driving through rush hour traffic, I reached my room yesterday just as the sun was dropping from the sky. I still had a bit of surveillance work to do, but I was ready for an ice cold one and my stomach was grumbling for food. I hadn’t eaten since lunch, which was taken on the run at O’Hare - a Chicago-style hot dog (I’m beginning to feel that there should be no other kind... including Coneys, my friend!) complete with fluorescent green relish, yellow mustard, tomato wedges, half-moons of thinly-sliced cucumber, four or five hot Serrano chile peppers, and topped off with a huge dill pickle spear. As good as it was, the dog had long since stopped sticking to my ribs (although I discovered later that a bit of mustard had continued to cling in my beard throughout the day, with nary a person I spoke to, including the guy at the beverage store, mentioning the fact).

Just after the sun had set I headed out to the ‘job’ site for a quick look around and noticed a lit sign cabinet with red and yellow lettering announcing: “SUBMARINE SANDWICHES” and “COLD BEER TO GO”. I made a mental note that something must have changed and that perhaps my experience in Lancaster of a month ago was peculiar to Amish Country. After I had punched out for the day, I swung by one of the beverage stores that I had passed on my way into Monroeville only to discover that I was again held to the ‘by the case’ rule.

“I’m just visiting and I don’t really want a case,” I told the proprietor.

“How long are you in for?”

“Just a couple of days.”

“Well, you can go up here and get a six-pack from a pub and grille, which will be on your right, or there’s a sub shop called Rudy’s down a little further on your left. They have a yellow sign.”

“I thought I saw a sign like that a little while ago. I can get a cold six-pack?” He nodded. “And I can get a sandwich?” Another nod. “That’s perfect.” And it was.

On the advice of a business associate, I opted for a twelve-pack of a local beer, the Yuengling Lager. Touted as being from ‘America’s Oldest Brewery’ - one that has been run by the same family for five generations ‘Since 1829', the brew turned out to be a winner... smooth and drinkable and a nice pairing for my Mushroom Cheesesteak Sub, which was also a delight, the bun delicate yet firm to the bite, the beef tender enough to melt in your mouth.

Ahh... Rudy’s. It’s almost five o’clock here now... quitting time, Happy Hour for the Nine-to-Five Brigade. I put in my four hours today, earned my supper, and my new friend Rudy is almost directly across the street from the hotel where I sit as I type this and listen to the hum of the refrigerator, empty save for a few cans of Yuengling Lager. The saliva is practically running from the corner of my mouth just thinking about another sandwich and more beer. Maybe some wings. Did I mention that Rudy has wings? Well, he does. Pizza, too...and onion rings and breakfast croissant sandwiches and, most importantly of course... MOTHERFUCKING SIX PACKS TO GO!

Cheers!
Marty Sherman