Manners matter

Last night I was in line at Kimbrough, bottle of cheap bubbly in hand, waiting on the guy in front of me to get done with his transaction, when said dude turned to me and asked what I was getting.

I held up the bottle so he could see the label.

“Is it good?” he asked.

I nodded in the affirmative. “It’s good and cheap,” I said. (Barefoot Bubbly, woo!)

“Yeah, I need something to help me get off the vodka.”

I glanced at his purchase and, sure enough, saw that it was a bottle of cheap vodka. “Well, this would probably make a real good transition,” I offered.

The other clerk freed up his register and called me over. I checked out and headed out to my car, and heard vodka dude behind me, trying to get my attention.

I braced myself for the parking-lot pitch, which, once you’ve lived in Midtown long enough, you’re quite used to. “Yeah?”

He looked me in the eye. “Can I hook up wicha?”

Having never been propositioned so directly … in a liquor-store parking lot … by a stranger … I was a little taken aback. “Um? No? No, sorry.” I smiled sheepishly.

“No? Awww. You got a boyfriend?”

“Yeeeeeaaaaaah. Yep. Yes! Sure do. Sorry!” Another sheepish grin, this time with a twinge of guilt for lying, or at least not coming up with a better lie, like, Actually, I’m only attracted to strange men who drink bottom-shelf tequila, and I prefer to meet them on Craigslist, not at the liquor store. And also? It’s “MAY I hook up wicha?”!!!

“Damn, baby!”

[If you saw me in meatspace last night, chances are I already told you this story AND the punchline. You’re welcome.]