Has anyone else ever found themselves in a strange town and been able, uncannily, to find the only liquor store within a ten-mile radius? That happened to me a few days ago.

Last Thursday I had to fly to Kentucky on business. As I usually do these days when my job requires me to go out of town, I planned on picking up a bottle and staying in my hotel room rather than going out and sampling the local bar scene. For one thing, it's become damn expensive to tie one on in hotel bars, where drinks tend to be overpriced and not terribly strong. For another, I no longer have the patience to try striking up conversations with the locals. A bucket of ice and a flask of whisky and HBO in my hotel room is good enough for me.

After arriving in Louisville, driving for an hour and a half to the small town where I was to meet some guy the next day for an interview, and checking into my hotel, I turned to the serious business of finding a place to buy some hooch. I knew this was not likely to be easy. Although I was in Kentucky, the very center of bourbon production, I happened to be in a county where there seemed to be a Baptist church on every other block. There were very few bars as far as I could tell. Where to go for my supply?

I recalled that as I was approaching the town on the interstate I had seen what appeared to be a commercial district a few miles away from the hotel. That seemed as good a place as any to start, so I hopped in the car and got back onto the interstate. I exited that interstate and got onto another, keeping a close eye on the neighborhoods I was passing. A few exits later I saw a lot of gas stations and other commercial buildings and got off there.

I drove for about two miles before coming to a commercial strip running perpendicular to the road I was on. I turned right and drove a few blocks more. Then, finally, I came upon what looked like an old general store with signs advertising ice and beer. Aha! Could this be the place? Maybe I'd have to settle for beer, but it would be better than nothing.

I got out of the car and walked straight to a door at the side of the building (not the main entrance). As I walked in, a young guy greeted me at the door and asked if he could help me. The room was very small, no more than about a hundred square feet, but the walls were lined with glass-fronted cabinets containing booze. Four or five men were sitting around idly. As a chorus, they immediately asked what they could do for me. It was rather strange. I felt as if I had entered a speakeasy, as if I were someplace where illicit things went on. These guys gave me the distinct impression that they wanted me to get what I wanted and then to get the hell out.

I asked if they had any scotch. They didn't. Duh, I thought: When in Kentucky, drink as the Kentuckians drink. Bourbon they had plenty of, so I asked for a pint of Jim Beam. The man who apparently ran the place asked me if I wanted "four or seven." No, just one bottle was enough, I said. "Four or seven years old" is what he meant. Wonderful! I thought. Here in bourbon country they routinely refer to bourbon by its age and are so accustomed to doing so that they speak of it in verbal shorthand. I bought the four-year-old whisky and was on my way.

The oddest thing about all this is that I later found out that the little hole-in-the-wall store where I bought my whisky was one of only a handful of liquor stores in this predominantly Baptist county, and yet I had somehow driven directly there as if guided by some sixth sense. Is this unusual? Should I be grateful for this apparent gift?

Kev

From: Anais (aka Tatgirl)
Date: 27 Jul 97

Kev wrote:

(snipalotofgoodstuff)
The oddest thing about all this is that I later found out that the little hole-in-the-wall store where I bought my whisky was one of only a handful of liquor stores in this predominantly Baptist county, and yet I had somehow driven directly there as if guided by some sixth sense. Is this unusual? Should I be grateful for this apparent gift?

Kev

I say you were guided by some supernatural DB force. Use it well Kev!

Anais (aka Tatgirl)
I still can't find the liquor store...

From: Kev
Date: 29 Jul 97

[Jaz]: I liked that story...Somehow comforting in a strange way.

Thanks. But let me tell you, visiting that odd little hooch shop was pretty damn unnerving to me.

[Jaz]: What gets me is why there was 6 blokes in there?

I still wish I knew. I think it had something to do with the old southern redneck general store culture thing. A social club for the good old boys, if you will. Apparently this is a place where a few of the locals hang out, chew tobacco, swap lies, and plan their next KKK meeting.

[Jaz]:Obviously they can't all work there so why did they chorus a
"Can I help you?" sort of thing.

They seemed paranoid. These Kentuckians are rather clannish people. Ever heard of the Hatfields and McCoys? I think they became even more paranoid when I opened my mouth and they realized I was a damn yankee.

[Jaz]:Then you went and took nekkid pictures of yourself...
Hmmmmmmm

Hey, I was drunk. What else can I say? Seemed like a good idea at the time.

Oh, by the way, I think the bit about taking nekkid self-portraits was a dream after all. Today I called the photo shop and asked if my pics were ready. They said they were ready but didn't threaten to have me arrested. Who knows?

Kev