Dear Seedy Liquor Store Operator,
First and foremost, I should point out that the adjective “seedy” modifies YOU and not the liquor store, which looked well-appointed and admirably well-stocked –save for the cherry brandy I was hoping you’d have in stock.
You, sir, have ensured that I never set foot in your fine establishment ever again, and I feel in need of explaining myself.
I confess that at first I was avoiding the liquor store altogether. This is a place where it seems that people who like to imbibe early and often (not objectionable) out of a paper bag and outside (quite objectionable) enjoy congregating randomly. When we first moved to the neighborhood I let my sociocultural biases get the better of me and avoided the place like the plague. As time has gone by, I have reincorporated the liquor store into my near-daily business route and while the people there still like to engage in weird and possibly shady activities and public drunkenness, they are still incredibly nice and charming and always say polite hellos and wave at the baby.
So, deciding to charge boldly into the last stronghold of my prejudice, I entered the store today. I admit: it was possibly foolish to expect that you had cherry brandy. The extremely well stocked liquor store near Union Station openly admitted to not carrying it, so why would a smaller liquor store have it? But then again, the impressively armed wall of booze reassured me, and I figured I wouldn’t lose much by just asking. Again, hoping against all hope that my prejudice would melt in the face of being the owner of a bottle of cherry brandy, I asked.
But as soon as I made eye contact with you, you thought I was trying to make, what? Bedroom eyes at you? Outrageous overtures in your direction? That was the moment when you smiled your smarmy little smile and then winked lewdly twice looking at me in my husband’s bomber jacket up and down. Seriously, though: I HAVE A BABY. DO I LOOK LIKE MEAT-MARKET MATERIAL TO YOU?
But then to top it off, Mister Clerk, you were rude when you realized that my staring at you meant that I actually wanted service– and not the pornographic kind. So you see now, this objection I now have against your place of employ is nothing racial or socioeconomic: I refuse to purchase my booze in a place where I’ll be poorly sexually harrassed while being made to feel like some sort of weirdo for asking for something that seemingly does not exist. And I won’t be playing employee-Russian Roulette, trying to guess when you won’t be working so I can shop for my fire water.
Finally, a note for when helping/harrassing future patrons: winks are very passé. If you’re going to make come-hither eyes at someone, try not to act as though you’ll reward them with $1 if they smile broadly enough.
Respectfully (though still trying to shudder off the ick),