Here, have some laughter....

As promised, I have a story for you, my lovely readers. I was going to post a more serious one, but given the rather sobering news today from Random House, Thomas Nelson and Houghton Mifflin Harcourt I decided perhaps a little laughter is in order.

This story was sent in by Nic, who claims to tell the best stories in his family. Reading this, I would agree. Without further ado, I present to you...



the Town-Drunk

The state of Washington has a law that grocery stores can not sell beer or wine after 2am. The law also prohibits selling alcohol to persons who are noticeably intoxicated, or selling to minors. One night, my friend "Reese" (one of the graveyard checkers) had the pleasure of refusing beer sales for all three of those prohibitions.

The first refusal was to a group of teenagers trying to by the cheapest half-rack available shortly before 2am. Rather than looking for a different grocery store to score some booze, these offended minors scoured the Albertson’s parking lot looking for Reese’s car, hoping to fulfill a threat to “key it up.” How mature of them. The night manager headed out to make sure that no vandalism occurred, and (to the best of his knowledge) chased the adolescents away.

Less than a half hour later, the town-drunk showed up. Now, before I continue the story, I must provide a geography lesson. My hometown is situated next to a tribal reservation. The only thing separating the town of Marysville from the reservation is Interstate 5. The Freeway exit used to get to our grocery store is the same exit used to get to the tribe’s casino. Albertsons is within walking distance of the casino and was (at the time) the closest grocery store for everyone living on the reservation. Sore losers from the casino and drunk natives would often stumble the few blocks off the reservation into our store to stock up on beer and cheap wine. This is how the town-drunk ended up in the store.

He staggered into Reese’s line with two 40’s about 2:15, reeking breath strong enough to give Reese a contact buzz if contact buzzes were possible. Reese was finally able to check off items two and three: no alcohol after 2am… no alcohol for the obviously impaired.

Since the town-drunk was primed for a public intoxication charge, disorderly conduct was only a natural progression. At Reese’s refusal, the town-drunk went from drunk & stupid to drunk and angry in less time than it takes to drink a shot of whiskey.

“Whadda ya mean I can’t buy mu bee-uh? If I wanna bee-uh… I shud be aybuh ta buy sum dang bee-uh.” Reese again refused the sale and asked the town-drunk to leave the store. With some coaxing (and threats to call the police) the town-drunk slowly made his way to the exit, shouting a slurred mix of obscenities and unintelligible threats.

In line behind the town-drunk, and observing the whole exchange, was a young man in a Pizza Hut uniform. As the pizza boy stepped up the register, he slid a 9mm pistol across the checkout counter to Reese.

“Here,” he said, “if that guy causes any problems, you can use this.” After a confused look from Reese, the vigilante-pizza-delivery-g
uy continued, “It’s OK, I have a concealed weapons permit.” Reese, being of slightly above average intelligence, knew that bringing a handgun into the situation was a bad idea; he politely decline the vigilante-pizza-delivery-guy’s offer.

A few seconds later, a gunshot was heard, and one of the other graveyard workers called 911. The remainder of this story was not seen from the store, but gathered from witness testimony.

The denied teens, after being chased away by the night manager, did not leave the property. Instead, they hung out around the corner of the building (and out of sight from the store’s entrance) complaining about their inability to purchase beer and their further inability to inflict revenge on Reese’s car. The kids were still there when the town-drunk left the store, continuing his drunken rants and beginning his wayward stumble back to the reservation. The two parties crossed paths; the rejected youth listened to the town-drunk’s sob story and shared their own. The kids pointed to Reese’s car and suggested the town-drunk could wait for Reese to come out of the store – then the drunk could settle his own as well as the teens’ grievances.

Unfortunately for the town-drunk, the car parked next to Reese’s had a Pizza Hut delivery sign attached to the roof. When the vigilante-pizza-delivery-g
uy saw the town-drunk waiting by Reese’s car, vigilante-pizza-delivery-guy feigned oblivion to the night’s preceding events. He aimed for the back of his car, acting like he intended to put his armful of groceries into the trunk. He opened the trunk; instead of stowing away his food, he pulled out a sawed-off shotgun.

After a few sentences of utterly pointless dialogue, vigilante-pizza-delivery-g
uy pulled the trigger, shooting the town-drunk’s leg. Police were there in less than two minutes. Someone went to jail. I’ll give you a hint – it wasn’t the town-drunk.

The saddest part of the whole affair was its appearance in the local paper a couple of days later. The blurb – hardly longer than a run-on sentence – was buried deep in the eleventh page. It only mentioned that the police responded to a GSW in the Albertsons parking lot. No mention of the kids who wished they weren’t sober, the drunk, or the crazy pizza guy.

1 comment:

  1. Oy, it figures! It's interesting to know the back-story behind situations like this, though, giving a whole new slant to the story!


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