The Independent Voice of Southern Methodist University Since 1915

The Daily Campus

The Daily Campus

The Independent Voice of Southern Methodist University Since 1915

The Daily Campus

The Independent Voice of Southern Methodist University Since 1915

The Daily Campus

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Ann goes to the liquor store

Ruminiations
 Ann goes to the liquor store
Ann goes to the liquor store

Ann goes to the liquor store

Before this whole liberal-conservative brawl gets too ugly for me to even drink off, I’m going to bail. While everyone is engaged in verbal battle, I’m off in my own world, running around on a completely different battlefield by myself, flailing my arms about. This week I’m back to the random little tangents that I get at 3 a.m.

My roommate said that if she could make a documentary, it would be of me buying alcohol. Thanks. It’s nice to know that nothing else about my life is worthy of a documentary.

I had to wait until my senior year before I could step foot into a liquor store. And now that I can, it’s a trip and a half. Everyone makes me go on the liquor run now because they know how hard it is for me to pass for twenty-one.

I don’t even try to be inconspicuous about it. I walk in whistling. All eyes are directed towards me. ‘She doesn’t look old enough to drive, should she be in a liquor store?’ they all wonder. I’m greeted by several store employees who keep a close watch on me. I head to the back to get the guys their 40s. Then I stroll a little further down the freezer aisle to locate the malt beverages for the girls. Any Smirnoff Flavored Twists is usually the order. I am met by another store employee who asks if I’m finding everything okay. I respond with a “Yes, thank you,” and smile politely.

With a few 40s in my hand and three cases of malts, I go to the counter to set them down, and I reassure them that I am going to come back with more.

If it’s a liquor store I’ve visited before, then I know exactly where to go next. Otherwise, I spend about five minutes looking at the signs: Rum, Vodka, Bourbon, Wine, Whiskey, Gin, Brandy, Mixers. I go to the Whiskey shelf for a handle of Jack Daniels so the guys can have their Jack and Coke. Then I walk over to the Rum to pick up a handle of Bacardi Gold so the girls can make their girly mixed drinks.

Onward to the vodka aisle. McCormick’s is usually the preference, only because it’s cheap. But every so often, people will pitch in enough to step up the quality a notch to Smirnoff. I recently discovered, however, that there is a brand of vodka that’s even cheaper than McCormick’s? I know! That stunned me just as well.

I start to walk towards the checkout counter when I stop and remember something — the Everclear. I would be scorned if I forgot the Everclear.

I come back to the checkout counter with two bottles of rum, an extra-large handle of vodka and a bottle of Everclear.

To the clerk, I look like an alcoholic.

“If I may see some ID, please,” the store clerk asks.

I whip out my license and hand it to the guy. He looks at it with a strange suspicion because it is still one of the vertical ones that Texas implemented several years back. He examines it closely. He hands it back to me, and I’m thinking to myself, thaaat’s right. It’s real. What up now?

As he’s scanning all of the items, I try to make conversation.

“So how much alcohol do you think is actually in a bottle of Everclear?” He looks at me strangely.

I make another attempt to strike conversation as he scans the bottle of Jack.

“You haven’t heard anything about TABC being here this weekend, have you?” He looks up from his scanning.

“I’m just kidding.” But he’s not laughing at all.

He tells me what the grand total comes out to, and I put it on my debit card. Thankfully, I receive my own bank statements and not my parents. As much alcohol as I purchase, they would think that my business venture this time was opening up a bar.

I enter my pin number on the keypad as he double-bags everything. He gives me a copy of the receipt and says, “Thank you, have a good weekend.”

“Oh, I will,” I tell him as I tap my huge paper bag of goodies.

Whoever thought to implement automatic doors at liquor stores was a genius. As I’m carrying a bag that’s taller than me, with precious and fragile contents inside, I’m glad I don’t have to open the door.

Ann Goes to the Liquor Store would be just one of a series of documentaries, like the books you used to read as a kid where Andy Goes to the Dentist or Harriet Goes to School. I think my series would go a little something like this:

Ann Goes to College.

Ann Writes a Stupid Column.

Ann Turns 21.

Ann Goes to the Liquor Store.

Ann Graduates College.

Ann Has No Clue What to Do.

Ann Gets a Job.

Ann Gets Married/Buried.

Ann Has Kids.

Ann Gets Buried for Real.

Ann Truong is a senior math and electrical engineering double major. She may be contacted at [email protected].

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