What We Say (And What We Think)

I don't drink because I have no tolerance for alcohol anymore. And also because I don't need to add to my general unwellness with poison.

But every now-and-again I decide to have a drink or many.  Yesterday it was because I was tired of being cold. I have really been feeling the cold already this fall, even though it has only been in the 50s and 60s. I will be a shivering mess come winter. So I decided to try an Irish remedy for the cold. Some cognac.  OK. I suppose that's a French remedy. The Irish one would be whiskey. But I am very unIrish. I don't like whiskey.  Or Guinness.  I like cognac and wine. Maybe I was French in a former life?  Who knows?

So I march into the liquor store, straight from the vitamin store; -aware there was an irony there,  walking fast in heels and a using my cane. I was immediately confronted with a  table bearing the sign "Our Best Picks", surrounded by broken crackers, stale bread cubes, sad and dirty-looking pretzel rods and some dip that had had the fresh stuff scooped out from under the skin.  No vino on the table at all.

(Nice picks  ...not) thought I as I picked up a basket (I clearly missed the rush).  I adjusted my purse on my shoulder and this caused a bone to pop in my wrist. I doubled over the basket, clutching my hand, trying not to cry, curse (out loud) or stamp my foot.  It was right then that an oily man, probably the owner (I had not seen him there before but it was best picks night, so maybe he made the effort) who had been approaching me from the back of the store as I walked in, reached me.

"Can I help you?" he asked, taking the basket from my screaming hand

"No. (not unless you're a doctor) I dislocated my wrist. (what the FUCK do you think you can do to help?)"

"Oh. I mean can I help you to find something?" (you spoiled, attention-seeking drama queen. You were fine when you walked in here. I bet you are faking it and will try to blame the basket and sue me).

"Um.." (that the fuck is WRONG with you? I'm in pain here! Give me a second! How can I think with you standing over me all oily?)  I was looking for some... (and why did you take the basket anyway?) ...cognac"

"Follow me" He minced away, surprisingly quickly for such a short-legged, affected person. I followed, leaning on my cane. "What brand?" He called over his shoulder

"Courvoisier" said I, giving it the French pronunciation. I am European, after all.

"Wha... Oh (you pretentious bitch)"

He produced a shiny box from a high shelf.
"Wait a minute, it that XO? (are you trying to give me the most expensive stuff?)"

"Oh no. It is VS (I hardly thought you were an XO type of person). But we have VS, VSOP and XO, if you want (a challenge)...?"

"No. That's OK. VS is fine" (It is just for me and I am not spending any more money than I absolutely have to in your store, you unctuous prick)

"Let me take this up to the front for you (I want you out of here as fast as possible)"

"But wait I'm not... (finished.  Oh very well, while you mince off with me VS, I will just struggle with this big bottle of chardonnay in my sore, recently dislocated little hand because you took me basket)"

An over-made-up skinny girl in her 20s was working the register. "Will that be all? ( I hate being here and I hate you for making me be here)"

"Yes. *big smile* (I don't give a fuck) Thank you"

...

...
(and do you HAVE to make such a production out of wrapping two bottles?)

She handed me one carrier bag and one bag bottle just wrapped in brown paper. I held up my cane and gave a bright smile: "May I have two carrier bags please? I only have one free hand" (you stupid, unobservant moron)

"Sure! (you fussy, high maintenance bitch. I'm sure you could get to your car just fine if you wanted to)"

...

Then the long-haired, middle aged man, who was on line behind me piped up: "I can help you to your car! (you are quite young and attractive for a cripple, and probably vulnerable)"

"Oh! Thank you very much! That is kind (you old pervert)! But I don't like to depend on strangers (not vulnerable in the least, Thank you very much.  And I really would like to try and teach this silly cow a lesson in observation and anticipating customer needs, pointless though I am sure it is)."

I FINALLY get my booze in portable form.

"Bye! (Hope you DIE!)" 

That last one was Over-Made-Up Girl, not me.

Really.

Comments

[Drake]

Man, what a bad experience... I guess you are not going to be going back there fairly soon... I must admit, after having to buy wine for my sister the other day, liquor stores is not really set up to handle the normal public. They have a very weird way about them...

I am still trying to figure out a system of taking change from a till. My wrist braces does a great job at stabalising my wrists, but lets face it...they werent made with coins in mind. There is a certain movement I just can't make, in order to pickup change from a counter and most of the time, the counters is one of those that has a "bumper" on the side, so you can't even slide it off the side.

Thew worse is when they hand it to me and it slides INTO my wrist brace... How annoying.

[yanub]

I took my mom shopping Saturday, since it will be a while before I get another chance to spend time with her. All the same, it was a crappy day for shopping and I ended on my knees in line because, well, you know, they only last so long and then it's crawling time. And there is nothing like crawling time in a public place to put me in a bad humor in regard to absolutely everyone else around me. Die, die, die, you horrible wankers!

My mom didn't say anything, except suggest that she could really use some ice cream, and wasn't there a nearby Dairy Queen? OK, so it is not on the diet, but ice cream therapy was the right call. I hope cognac therapy was the right one for you.