In the past couple of days I had the pleasure of seeing two films which were exceptional in different ways (Django and Les Miserables [please excuse my omission of a written accent on "Miserables" all you Francophiles). I wish to write about both of them in due time, but the ideas I wish to write are still bubbling about and coagulating in my mind (gross, sounds like an episode of Dexter's Labratory). Therefore, in their incomplete state, I will instead share a *ahem* charming Christmas liquor store anecdote from a couple of weeks ago (yes, that is officially a type of anecdote).
My plans for the most recent apocalypse on December 21st were not very intriguing. Ok fine, you got me all of you who know I have no life- they were non-existent. My mass text in a desperate attempt to make plans heralded a pity invite from someone I had met at a charity event a few weeks prior. It seemed her altruistic nature extended far beyond helping distribute toys to the needy (which we were doing when we met, for those of you that do not know the back story). I was quite thankful for her willingness to help out my charity-case self and gratefully accepted the forced invite to attend the Boulder rugby team's Secret Santa/Apocalypse party.
Since this was a last minute pity invite, I had little time to scrounge up a Secret Santa gift. I was informed that it should be a "tacky" gift under $10, but seeing as how I had never met the party attendees I was at a loss as to what they would consider "tacky." Some people consider gifts from the $1 bin at Target to be tacky, some would consider a bottle of cheap vodka to be tacky. I felt that a general consensus regarding the cheap vodka as tacky was more likely than the $1 Target items.
Aiming to arrive fashionably late to the party to minimize the awkwardness of only knowing one person, I took my sweet time getting ready and then headed to the liquor store to purchase my tacky gift. Upon arrival, I nearly had to revert to my back-burnered (yes I just made that a verb) Target dollar bin idea as I left my ID in my car (don't heckle me, I know I should have checked to see if I had it before going into the store) and thought I didn't have it at all. Fully aware that I look about 17 give or take, I did not even bother trying to buy anything without my ID. Sulking back to the car, I was thrilled to find it in the side pocket of the door and made a B-line back inside.
Another hindrance of not knowing anyone at the party was that I had no idea what kind of tacky alcohol to buy. Of course, any kind of liquor under $10 cannot exactly be associated with the adjective "classy." The gods of tacky-alcohol-secret-santa presents heard my plea (the types of gods these days are getting very specific, yes) and presented me with the answer: shooters (for those of you who don't know, those are the mini single shot bottles). This particular liquor store happened to be having a mix-n-match (their words, not mine) sale on shooters- buy two get one free. Since they were each about $1.50, I got a variety of different liquors which would please anyone who got my gift. Aren't I considerate, actually buying a gift someone would like! I even made the extra effort of trying to coordinate the shooters with a holiday theme- example, Baileys to put in hot chocolate, peppermint Schnapp's (does that actually need to be capitalized?) and apple pie vodka. Then I included the full spectrum of classics like vodka, whiskey, tequila (gross) and gin. Something for everyone.
Now comes the main story within my anecdote- the transaction at the register. After spending what some might consider a ridiculous amount of time meticulously selecting the right shooters to include in my gift, I proceeded to the checkout (feeling pretty smug about my gift, I might add). Above the register there was a very prominent electronic sign informing cashiers and customers of the "legal date" (if you aren't able to figure out what that means, it is the minimum day and year you would have to be born to be able to purchase alcohol). The high-tech aspect of the sign entertained me, and, trying to make polite conversation with the cashier, I shared shared the fact that I was entertained by the sign with her. Her response backed my mind into a cognitive corner. Brace yourselves, here is what she said:
"Um, it's because you need to be 21 to purchase alcohol..."
My mind, still cornered, had no idea how to comprehend the meaning behind this nugget of wisdom she had just imparted on me. Was she trying to insinuate that I was trying to purchase alcohol while underage? That seemed like the obvious intent of her statement, but it had nothing to do with my comment. Actually, the grammatical structure of her statement would not even allow it to be a response to my statement of amusement at the electronic sign. She was attempting to explain something that I did not ask to have explained. Or was she? My only other thought about her intentions with that statement was that she genuinely thought I did not understand the minimum age to purchase alcohol in this country. I really hope I did not give off the impression of being so clueless. Needless to say, when I handed her my ID she scrutinized over the date of birth more meticulously than I had ever seen in my life. And trust me, my ID has been scrutinized-over a LOT. The funny thing was that, with the fancy sign, it should have required next to no scrutiny. Has the word "scrutiny" and other forms of it ever been used to many times in such a small space? Probably not.
Anyways, the party was good and my gift the best. Clearly, I've lost interest in telling this story and my fingers are about to mutiny from all the typing. And I will listen to their mutinous requests because they are one of my favorite extremities. Until next time, when potentially my movie-related thoughts will be complete.
My plans for the most recent apocalypse on December 21st were not very intriguing. Ok fine, you got me all of you who know I have no life- they were non-existent. My mass text in a desperate attempt to make plans heralded a pity invite from someone I had met at a charity event a few weeks prior. It seemed her altruistic nature extended far beyond helping distribute toys to the needy (which we were doing when we met, for those of you that do not know the back story). I was quite thankful for her willingness to help out my charity-case self and gratefully accepted the forced invite to attend the Boulder rugby team's Secret Santa/Apocalypse party.
Since this was a last minute pity invite, I had little time to scrounge up a Secret Santa gift. I was informed that it should be a "tacky" gift under $10, but seeing as how I had never met the party attendees I was at a loss as to what they would consider "tacky." Some people consider gifts from the $1 bin at Target to be tacky, some would consider a bottle of cheap vodka to be tacky. I felt that a general consensus regarding the cheap vodka as tacky was more likely than the $1 Target items.
Aiming to arrive fashionably late to the party to minimize the awkwardness of only knowing one person, I took my sweet time getting ready and then headed to the liquor store to purchase my tacky gift. Upon arrival, I nearly had to revert to my back-burnered (yes I just made that a verb) Target dollar bin idea as I left my ID in my car (don't heckle me, I know I should have checked to see if I had it before going into the store) and thought I didn't have it at all. Fully aware that I look about 17 give or take, I did not even bother trying to buy anything without my ID. Sulking back to the car, I was thrilled to find it in the side pocket of the door and made a B-line back inside.
Another hindrance of not knowing anyone at the party was that I had no idea what kind of tacky alcohol to buy. Of course, any kind of liquor under $10 cannot exactly be associated with the adjective "classy." The gods of tacky-alcohol-secret-santa presents heard my plea (the types of gods these days are getting very specific, yes) and presented me with the answer: shooters (for those of you who don't know, those are the mini single shot bottles). This particular liquor store happened to be having a mix-n-match (their words, not mine) sale on shooters- buy two get one free. Since they were each about $1.50, I got a variety of different liquors which would please anyone who got my gift. Aren't I considerate, actually buying a gift someone would like! I even made the extra effort of trying to coordinate the shooters with a holiday theme- example, Baileys to put in hot chocolate, peppermint Schnapp's (does that actually need to be capitalized?) and apple pie vodka. Then I included the full spectrum of classics like vodka, whiskey, tequila (gross) and gin. Something for everyone.
Now comes the main story within my anecdote- the transaction at the register. After spending what some might consider a ridiculous amount of time meticulously selecting the right shooters to include in my gift, I proceeded to the checkout (feeling pretty smug about my gift, I might add). Above the register there was a very prominent electronic sign informing cashiers and customers of the "legal date" (if you aren't able to figure out what that means, it is the minimum day and year you would have to be born to be able to purchase alcohol). The high-tech aspect of the sign entertained me, and, trying to make polite conversation with the cashier, I shared shared the fact that I was entertained by the sign with her. Her response backed my mind into a cognitive corner. Brace yourselves, here is what she said:
"Um, it's because you need to be 21 to purchase alcohol..."
My mind, still cornered, had no idea how to comprehend the meaning behind this nugget of wisdom she had just imparted on me. Was she trying to insinuate that I was trying to purchase alcohol while underage? That seemed like the obvious intent of her statement, but it had nothing to do with my comment. Actually, the grammatical structure of her statement would not even allow it to be a response to my statement of amusement at the electronic sign. She was attempting to explain something that I did not ask to have explained. Or was she? My only other thought about her intentions with that statement was that she genuinely thought I did not understand the minimum age to purchase alcohol in this country. I really hope I did not give off the impression of being so clueless. Needless to say, when I handed her my ID she scrutinized over the date of birth more meticulously than I had ever seen in my life. And trust me, my ID has been scrutinized-over a LOT. The funny thing was that, with the fancy sign, it should have required next to no scrutiny. Has the word "scrutiny" and other forms of it ever been used to many times in such a small space? Probably not.
Anyways, the party was good and my gift the best. Clearly, I've lost interest in telling this story and my fingers are about to mutiny from all the typing. And I will listen to their mutinous requests because they are one of my favorite extremities. Until next time, when potentially my movie-related thoughts will be complete.
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| Wait, REALLY?? (Photo from lbarandlounge.com) |
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